jyiarfe  Chester: 


H  jMill  and  a  jVKUion 


(       b-:^   ;•'.:   :          • 


MARK  CHESTER: 


OR 


A  MILL  AND  A  MILLION 


A  Tale  of  Southern  California 


BY 


CARLYLE    £ETERSILEA,  /?</- 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  DISCOVERED  COUNTRY,"    "OCEAN  IDES," 

"MARY  ANNE  CAREW,"  "PHILIP  CARLISLE," 

AND  MANY  OTHERS. 


BOSTON: 

BANNER  OF  LIGHT  PUBLISHING  Co. 
£.  (L-  I  3  D  I  a 


Copyright  1901. 
BY  CARLYLE  PETERSILEA. 


MARK    CHESTER. 


CHAPTER    I. 
ALONE,    YET  NOT   ALONE. 

It  was  New  Year's  eve.  The  bright  golden  sun  of 
Southern  California  was  rapidly  sinking  toward  the 
horizon.  The  sky  was  clear  and  cloudless — too  cloud- 
less, in  fact,  to  suit  the  ranchmen  and  fruit-growers 
of  this  semi-tropical  land  which  was  parched  and  arid, 
thirsting  for  the  cloud,  and  the  rain  which  would  not 
come. 

The  waters  of  the  Pacific  lay  clear  and  placid;  but 
very  few  people  were  straying  upon  the  beach  at  this 
season,  especially  at  this  time  of  day.  Although  the 
afternoon  has  been  sunny,  and  comparatively  warm, 
yet  all  Californians  knew  that  the  instant  the  last  rays 
of  the  sun  disappeared,  the  night  would  be  clear  and 
very  cold. 

Redondo  beach  was  nearly  deserted:  two  or  three 
small  fishing  boats  were  being  drawn  ashore  by  weary 
fishermen  and  one  after  another  of  these  men  hastened 
inland,  a  couple  of  long  "yellow-tails"  dangling  from 
each  hand. 

The  sun,  by  this  time,  had  disappeared,  and  the  cold, 
uncomfortable  night  was  fast  approaching;  the  twilight 
being  exceedingly  short  in  this  part  of  the  world. 

The  beach  is  now  apparently  deserted— no,  not  quite 
— one  solitary  figure  is  sitting  motionless  on  that  far-off 
bench,  the  very  last  bench  toward  the  south.  It  would 
seem  that  this  person,  whoever  he  may  be,  wishes  to  es- 
cape observation.  As  he  cannot  see  us,  however,  we 
will  observe  him  as  closely  as  possible. 


4:  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

It  grows  darker  and  darker  each  moment,  and  now 
he  is  swallowed  up  within  the  darkness  and  becomes 
invisible,  not  to  us,  however:  we  can  see,  and  hear,  and 
understand.  Is  he  a  tramp  that  he  does  not  seek  home 
and  warmth  on  this  chill  New  Year's  eve?  He  scarcely 
looks  like  a  vagabond.  He  is  a  young  man— not  over 
one  and  twenty  at  the  most — with  a  fine,  intelligent  face, 
high,  broad  brow,  large,  dark  blue  eyes,  firm  chin,  broad 
shoulders,  strong,  supple,  and  well-built;  his  expression 
is  frank  and  genial,  his  clothing,  and  general  appearance 
clean  and  respectable.  The  night  has  set  in  cold  and 
dark.  He  shivers  as  the  chilly  air  penetrates  to  the 
very  marrow  of  his  bones.  He  looks  slightly  dejected, 
still  there  is  a  brave,  determined  air  about  him  that  is 
irresistible:  we  find  ourselves  in  love  with  him  at  once. 
Putting  his  hand  into  his  pocket  he  draws  forth  an  old, 
obsolete  coin — one  mill.  Snapping  it  lightly  into  the  air 
with  his  thumb  and  finger,  he  mutters: 

"This  mite  constitutes  all  the  wealth  I  have  in  this 
world— a  present  from  Santa  Claus  ten  years  ago — 
found  it  among  other  toys  in  my  stocking — was  sure,  at 
that  time,  it  was  good  old  Santa  Claus  himself  who 
filled  my  Christmas  stocking  with  gifts;  but  the  fast 
fleeting  years  have  dispelled  my  boyish  illusion:  the 
gifts  were  from  you,  my  dear  sainted  mother,  trying  to 
make  your  boy  happy.  How  well  I  remember,  after 
pulling  out  all  the  toys,  feeling  something  still  left  in 
the  extreme  end  of  the  toe  of  the  sock;  and  after  fish- 
ing, with  clumsy  fingers,  for  some  little  time,  drawing 
this  mill  forth  triumphantly.  It  was  carefully  wrapped 
up  in  a  note — my  precious  little  mill!  The  note  was  in 
my  mother's  handwriting.  I  well  remember  my  surprise 
at  this.  I  should  like  to  see  Santa  Claus  with  my  own 
eyes,  I  thought:  but  the  note  ran  thus: 

"  'Dear  boy:  This  is  all  the  money  I  can  give  you. 
There  are  so  many  thousands  of  children  that  even  a 
mill  to  each  would  be  more  than  I  could  carry:  My 
sleigh  would  be  too  heavy  for  the  fleet  reindeer  and  I 
should  not  get  round  in  time,  I  fear;  but  this  mill  shall 
yet  prove  a  fortune  to  you.  All  you  have  to  do,  when 
you  desire  anything  while  you  live,  is  to  take  this  little 
coin  from  your  pocket,  where  I  hope  you  will  always  keep 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  5 

it  and,  while  gazing  upon  it  intently,  repeat  to  yourself 
this  formula  or  prayer.  "Dear  mother:  wherever  you 
may  be,  within  the  limitless  universe,  come  to  your  boy! 
I  need  your  love,  your  help.  In  the  name  of  Santa 
Glaus,  I  conjure  you!  Come,  oh,  come!"  Your  mother 
shall  hear  your  prayer  and  come  to  you.  This  is  the 
last  and  best  gift  of  Santa  Claus.' 

"This  is  the  first  time,  since  my  dear  mother's  death, 
that  I  have  been  utterly  destitute  and  forlorn — the  first 
night  of  my  life  that  I  have  ever  found  myself  without 
food  or  shelter— this,  the  first  time  that  I  have  found  it 
necessary  to  take  the  little  coin  in  my  hands,  for  the 
purpose  of  repeating  the  prayer. 

"Mother;  dear  mother!  Do  you  still  live  somewhere 
within  the  limitless  universe?  If  so,  where,  oh,  where 
are  you,  my  mother?  My  mind  no  longer  accepts  the 
myth,  Santa  Claus.  How  well  I  now  know  that  it  was 
the  hands  of  my  own  mother  that  had  stuffed  the  little 
sock  with  toys,  that  had  placed  the  mill,  with  the  note, 
in  the  toe  of  the  stocking. 

"This  coin,  then,  is  to  be  the  talisman  between  her 
soul  and  mine.  This  little  mill,  is  all  the  wealth  I  have 
in  the  world.  Perhaps  it  may  prove  to  be  of  more  worth 
than  the  millions  of  a  Vanderbilt,  or  a  Rockefeller. 

"Soul  of  my  mother;  come  to  me  now!  I  know  not 
what  to  do!  I  cannot  remain  out  in  this  cold  all  night, 
and  without  money  I  cannot  obtain  shelter  and  a  bed. 
I  would  sooner  freeze  and  starve  than  beg.  No;  beg  I 
never  will!  Certainly,  I  may  be  able  to  find  employ- 
ment when  the  morning  comes.  The  boat  arrived  here 
late  and  my  last  cent  was  expended.  They  told  me  it 
was  some  eighteen  or  twenty  miles  to  Los  Angeles,  the 
city  I  wish  to  reach.  To  be  sure  I  might  start  and  walk 
all  night,  but  I  should  present  a  sorry  appearance  in  the 
morning.  Cold,  weary,  unkempt  and  hungry,  my  ap- 
pearance would  not  be  very  prepossessing.  I  should 
simply  be  looked  upon  as  a  tramp,  and  then,  I  am  sure, 
all  hope  would  be  gone. 

"No:  I  much  prefer  to  remain  here  and  improve  any 
opportunity  that  may  present  itself  in  the  morning. 

"Ugh!"  he  muttered.  "How  exceedingly  cold  it  is! 
Really,  I  am  thoroughly  chilled.  Not  a  human  being 


6  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

in  sight,  anywhere.  Ah,  the  moon  is  rising  over  yon- 
der hill!  The  sand-dunes  out  there  look  as  cold  and 
desolate  as  iny  own  heart  is  at  this  moment.  The  face 
of  the  full  moon  seems  as  clear  as  crystal  and  as  cold. 

"I  wonder  if  the  people  in  this  part  of  the  world  are 
as  cold  and  sharp  as  their  atmosphere?  If  so,  I  may 
not  expect  much  sympathy. 

"How  startlingly  clear  all  objects  are,  now  that  the 
moon  is  up.  I  would  much  rather  the  darkness  covered 
me. 

"When  at  home,  I  could,  at  least,  hide  myself  within 
a  London  fog.  The  nights  were  warm  in  Africa;  in 
China  the  people  were  sympathetic;  in  India  they  took 
me  by  the  hand  and  called  me  brother;  but  I  know  ab- 
solutely nothing  about  this  new  world — this  America. 
If  my  life  here  should  prove  as  cold  and  barren  as  this, 
my  first  entrance  into  this  country,  it  will  be  desolate 
indeed. 

"What  a  number  of  little  shanties  there  are  all  along 
this  beach,  to  be  sure:  besides,  a  good  many  tents,  but 
that  great  hotel  over  there  looks  like  a  palace,  or  the 
grandest  bungalow  in  all  India.  Palaces,  mansions,  cot- 
tages, shanties  and  tents,  seem  to  make  up  this  town. 
Ah!  yes.  I  remember.  This  is  a  sea-side  resort.  One 
of  those  smallest  tents,  and  a  bed,  would  make  me 
happy  tonight,  at  least;  but  even  that  I  cannot  obtain." 

He  rubbed  the  coin  smartly  between  his  thumb  and 
finger:  It  glistened  softly  in  the  bright  rays  of  the  moon. 
He  sat.  gazing  steadily  at  it.  A  mist  passed  over  his 
eyes  as  he  gazed.  The  features  of  his  own  dear  mother 
became  distinctly  visible  to  him,  and  her  soft,  loving 
eyes  were  gazing  directly  into  his  own.  He  thought 
that  her  warm  arms  enfolded  him;  her  long  hair  swept 
about  him,  and  as  it  did  so,  glowing  warmth  filled  his 
entire  body.  A  mother's  soft,  warm  kisses  were  pressed 
on  cheek  and  brow;  and  all  this  seemed  as  real  to  him 
as  though  she  had  actually  been  there  in  a  mortal  form. 
A  soft  voice  whispered: 

"My  son— my  own  dear  boy!  Behold,  I  am  here  at 
your  call.  The  Universe  is  not  so  vast  that  your  cry 
cannot  reach  me.  My  soul  is  not  so  impotent  that  it 
cannot  protect  my  child.  My  son,  there  is  only  a  thin 


A    MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  7 

veil  between  us,  and  your  earnest  desire  has  rent  even 
that  asunder.  The  veil  is  not  impenetrable.  You  have 
come  but  a  little  way  to  meet  me,  and,  see!  I  am  here. 
Cheer  up,  dear  boy;  food,  shelter,  and  a  bed  shall  be 
yours  this  cold  night.  Your  body  shall  not  suffer.  Keep 
your  soul  pure  and  bright.  Brighten  up  that  little  coin, 
dear;  let  not  a  spot  or  blemish  be  upon  it.  It  shall  be  a 
token  between  thee  and  me,  and  when  you  desire  my 
aid,  gaze  upon  its  bright  surface  intently;  this  will  help 
to  part  the  veil  between  us  and  we  will  converse  to- 
gether. 

"I  will  aid  and  comfort  thee,  my  child,  far  more  now 
than  I  should  be  able  to  do  if  I  were  still  in  the  mortal 
form.  It  is  better  as  it  is,  for  if  I  were  within  the 
body  I  might  not  be  here  to  assist  thee,  but  now  wher- 
ever thou  art  there  can  I  be  also. 

"Dost  see  that  little  boat  heaving  toward  the  shore? 
In  it  is  a  belated  fisherman.  Upon  him  I  will  throw 
my  influence,  and  he  will  be  kind  to  thee.  I  have 
hypnotized  thee,  my  son.  I  will  also  hypnotize  him. 

"Farewell   for  a  space." 


MARK  CHESTER:    OR 


CHAPTER   II. 

"AN1   WIIAR   DID   YE    CUM   FRUM  ? " 

The  young  wanderer  started.  Had  he  fallen  asleep 
and  dreamed  of  his  mother?  Perhaps;  he  could  not 
tell.  He  replaced  the  coin  in  his  pocket. 

Directly  in  front  of  where  he  sat,  a  solitary  boat  was 
rising  and  falling  with  the  stubborn  shore  waves;  con- 
stantly beaten  back  by  them,  still  advancing  nearer  and 
yet  nearer  with  each  incoming  wave.  At  last  it  grated 
on  the  sands.  A  sturdy  fisherman  leaped  out  and  seiz- 
ing the  boat,  tried  with  all  his  strength  to  force  her  high 
and  dry  beyond  the  reach  of  the  waves. 

The  young  man  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment,  abstract- 
edly. The  lusty  fisherman  perceiving  the  solitary  form 
seated  on  the  bench,  called  in  stentorian  tones: 

"Hullo,  thar!  Can  yer  help  a  feller  a  little?  Molly's 
a  stubborn  critter  when  she's  a  mind  ter  be.  She's  like 
some  hosses,  bound  ter  hev  her  own  way." 

The  young  man  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  fisherman. 

"Molly  jest  loves  them  waves,  she  does.  Stubborn  ole 
gal!  She  hates  the  sands  like  pisen.  Here,  you  jest  catch 
her  by  the  head  here,  an'  hold  her  steady  like,  an'  I'll 
jest  run  around  ter  the  starn,  an'  push.  Here,  take 
holt  o'  this  rope  here  in  her  nose,  an*  hold  on  like  Jehu, 
fur  she'll  try  hard  ter  git  away,  yew  bet!"\ 

The  young  man  did  as  directed,  and  held  on  "like 
Jehu"  for  the  boat  was  heavy  and  the  waves  quite 
powerful.  The  fisherman  was  bare-headed;  his  brown 
legs  and  feet  bare  to  the  knees.  He  rushed  into  the 
breakers,  which  dashed  about  him  to  his  waist,  and  with 
his  brawny  arms  he  pushed  with  all  his  might  at  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  the  young  man,  at  the  same  time, 
putting  forth  his  utmost  strength  at  the  bow;  and, 
while  doing  so,  his  eyes  caught  the  name  "Molly"  which 
was  staring  at  him  blackly.  With  many  twists,  grat- 
ings, creakings,  and  heavy  groanings,  together  with 
backward  flings,  rearings  and  forward  pitches,  Molly 
was  at  length  conquered  and  landed  high  and  dry  on 


A   MILL    AND   A   MILLION.  9 

the  sands,  very  unwillingly  on  her  part,  and  more  un- 
willing still  were  the  roaring,  ardent  waves  that  desired 
to  retain  her  within  their  rollicking  embrace. 

"Thar,  my  beauty!"  exclaimed  the  fisherman,  "thar 
ye  air,  at  last,  safe  an'  sound,  high  an'  dry.  But  yer  a 
kicker,  my  bonnie  belle,  an*  a  high  kicker  at  that.  Wall, 
now  fur  the  speckled  beauties.  Why,  some  o'  them's 
as  Ions  as  yer  arm  an'  longer.  A  hundred  yaller-tails, 
if  thar's  one;  soniG  rock-cod  an'  croakers  thrown  in,  an' 
two  or  three  fat  halibut.  Jerusalem!  though,  but  I'm 
tired.  Ben  out  sence  the  dawn,  pard.  It  must  be  nine 
o'  the  clock,  sure:  an'  I'm  dead  beat.  Sun's  jest  burned 
me  up  all  day,  an'  now  it's  a  reg'lar  Klondike,  yew  bet! 

"Jewhiteker!  aiiit  it  cold  though?  Say,  pard,  can  ye 
help  me  fur  awhile?  Or  air  ye  too  much  of  a  dandy? 
Yer  purty  strong  though  fur  a  b'ardless  boy.  Ye  pulled 
at  Molly  right  smart." 

"I  should  be  very  glad  to  help  you,"  answered  the 
young  man,  "and  I  hope  you  will  find  that  I  am  no 
dandy." 

"No?"  cried  the  stalwart  fisherman.  "How  do  ye 
happen  ter  hev  on  a  biled  shirt,  wedge  toes,  razor  collar, 
an'  top  coat  as  nearly  trails  on  ther  ground,  then?" 

And  the  long-legged,  bare-armed,  hatless  fisherman 
squared  himself,  with  dripping  arms  akimbo,  eyeing 
each  article  of  the  young  traveler's  attire  with  scornful 
lip. 

"I  landed  from  the  five  o'clock  boat,"  replied  our  hero, 
"and  have  not  yet  changed  my  dress." 

"Wall,  now,  ef  yer  a'goin'  tew  help  me,  ye'll  hev  ter 
take  off  thet  thar  toggery.  Guess  yer  up  at  the  hotel 
thar,  aint  yer?  Wish  thar  wus  somebody  else  round  'at 
I  could  git.  But  nary  a  critter's  about.  Say  now — ye'll 
hev  time  ter  run  up  an'  change  them  thar  does,  an' 
while  yer  gone  I'll  light  a  little  fire  yere  an*  git  dried 
up  some'ut,  an'  eat  a  bite.  Tell  yer,  pard,  haint  stopped 
ter  eat  a  bit  sence  mornin'.  Guess  a  cup  o'  hot  coffee 
'11  not  go  amiss.  What  yer  say,  now'll  yer  dew  it?" 
seeing  the  young  stranger  hesitated. 

"I  am  not   staying   at  the  hotel." 

"Wall,  never  mind  whar  yer  a  stayin';  can't  be  fur 
off,  else  yer'd  not  be  a  settin'  moonin'  on  thet  thar 


10  MARK  CHESTER:   OK 

bench,  in  the  cold.  What's  ther  marter  with  yer?  Air 
ye  love-sick?  Jest  ther  kind  o'  feller  as  gits  spoony; 
soft-like  an'  pale-like.  Haint  cut  away  frum  apron- 
strings  yit,  hev  yer?" 

A  sob  rose  in  the  youth's  throat,  but  he  swallowed 
it. 

"Cum,  hurry  up,  now,  ef  yer  a  goin'  ter  help  me!  Go 
long  an'  git  off  thet  thar  toggery;  an'  mind  now,  put 
on  an  old  flanul  shirt,  ef  yer  hev  one,  sum  trouses  as 
yer  don't  keer  about,  an'  an'  ole  par  o'  thick  shoes. 
It'll  take  both  on  us  'till  midnight  ter  take  keer  o'  them 
purty  beauties." 

"I  cannot  change  my  dress,"  said  the  young  man,  "for 
this,  which  I  wear,  is  all  I  have  in  the  world." 

"Wall,  th're  purty  good  clo'es;  but,  why  in  thunder 
don't  yer  hev  a  change  of  'urn?  Tew  clean  fish  fur  a 
man,  while  yer  dressed  like  a  dude,  without  nary  a 
change  o'  rags!  Wall,  all  right,  pard;  as  long  as  yer'll 
help  me  perhaps  we'll  make  shift.  So,  now  then,  I'll 
make  a  fire  an'  git  on  ther  coffee-kittle.  You  jest  take 
this  ere  canteen  an'  run  up  ter  thet  thar  well,  yender, 
an*  fill  it  with  water,  while  I  git  sum  sticks  an'  sea- 
weed together  an'  light  the  blaze." 

The  young  man  took  the  canteen  and  started  toward 
the  high  land;  filling  it  from  the  well  he  retraced  his 
footsteps.  The  fire  was  already  blazing  briskly  and  the 
coffee-kettle  was  soon  steaming.  The  fisherman  pre- 
pared a  good  sized  fish,  and  soon  had  it  broiling  over 
the  coals;  then,  taking  from  the  boat  a  can  of  baked 
beans,  a  lot  of  hardtack,  a  loaf  of  brown  bread  and 
some  butter,  he  spread  the  whole  on  a  piece  of  tarpau- 
lin, which  he  placed  on  the  sands.  Taking  a  couple  of 
large  tin  cups  from  the  boat,  he  poured  out  the  steam- 
ing coffee  and  invited  the  young  man  to  partake. 

"Ye'll  be  hungry  enough  'fore  yer  git  through,"  he 
remarked,  "so  yer  better  trace  up,"  and  they  proceeded 
"to  brace  up." 

Hot  coffee  was  not  amiss  this  cold  night;  the  broiled 
fish  was  delicious;  the  baked  beans  and  brown  bread 
had  been  heated  over  tho  fire  and  were  very  nourishing. 
The  fisherman  heaped  the  fire  with  dry  sea-weed,  drift- 
wood and  sticks,  until  it  blazed  high  and  when  they 


A   MILL    AND   A    MILLION.  11 

had  finished  their  meal,  both  were  in  a  glow  of  warmth 
and  comfort. 

The  stars  were  glittering  in  splendor;  some  of  them 
looking  large  and  bright  like  small  moons.  One,  in  par- 
ticular, glinted  alternately,  blue,  red  and  green.  The 
young  man  had  never  observed  this  before  in  any  other 
land. 

"That  star  takes  on  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow," 
he  remarked.  "It  must  be  owing  to  the  clearness  of 
this  southern  atmosphere." 

"Thet  star7  Wall,  now  yer  hev  mentioned  it,  I'll  tell 
yer,  we  fishers  call  it  Joseph,  or,  ole  Jo,  fur  short." 

"Joseph?"  said  the  youth,  interogatively.  "Why 
Joseph?" 

"Wall,  yer  see  as  how  it  changes  its  color  so  often, 
we  call  it  Joseph's  coat  of  many  colors,  or,  jest  ole  Jo, 
fur  short." 

The  young  traveler  smiled.  The  idea  was  rather 
poetical  than  otherwise. 

"Now,  pard,"  said  the  fisherman,  "take  this  ere  ole 
oil  coat,  an'  put  it  on  hind  side  afore,  like  ole  Grimes, 
an'  let's  git  ter  work.  See!  I'll  button  it  all  down  behind, 
instid  of  afore,  ter  keep  them  clo'es  o'  yourn  clean. 
Turn  up  yer  shirtsleeves,  jest  this  'ere  way,  an'  cover 
up  them  wedge  toed  shoes  an'  dude  trouses,  o'  yourn, 
with  this  'ere  piece  of  tarpaulin,  an'  yer  all  right  fur 
a  job  of  a  couple  of  hours  or  so.  Yer  don't  think  yer'll 
git  locked  out,  dew  yer?  Yer  didn't  say  as  whar  yer 
was  a  stopnin'." 

"I  have  not  yet  secured  a  place  for  the  night." 

A  tremor  of  sadness  crept  into  his  voice,  although  he 
had  made  an  effort  to  speak  nonchalantly. 

" Jerusalem- Jewhiteker!  Why  didn't  yer  tell  me  thet 
afore?  Why,  young  feller,  yer  can't  git  in  any  whar 
now.  Everybody's  shut  up  an'  gone  ter  bed  long  afore 
this,  'cept,  perhaps,  the  hotel.  Dew  yer  think  o'  goin* 
ter  the  hotel?" 

"No." 

"Whar,  then?" 

"If  I  work  for  you  until  midnight,  can  you  not  ac- 
commodate me  for  the  remainder  of  the  night?  Where 
do  you  sleep?  Is  your  home  near  here?" 


12  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Home?  Wall,  now,  thet  thar's  good!  Why.  Molly, 
she's  my  home." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  sleep  in  the  boat?" 

"Sleep  in  ther  boat?  Why,  thar  aint  a  better  place 
ter  sleep,  in  all  ther  world,  then  that  thar  boat.  Dew 
yer  think  I  would  leave  my  Molly  an'  my  yaller-tails  to 
thieves  an'  ravenin'  wolves?  No,  no.  Molly  an'  me 
air  never  sep'rated.  She's  my  wife,  Molly  is.  She's 
my  home,  Molly  is.  She's  my  sweetheart,  Molly  is,  an' 
she  supports  me,  Molly  does.  I  tell  yer,  young  man, 
thet  thar  boat's  a  treasure,  an'  ef  I  couldn't  git  another 
like  her,  a  million  wouldn't  buy  her.  She's  a  Rockefeller 
ter  me,  yew  bet!  Air  ye  intendm'  ter  stay  round  these 
parts,  young  feller?" 

"I  had  not  thought  of  so  doing.  The  city  of  Los  An- 
geles is  my  destination." 

"Wall,  a  man  can't  go  a  fishin'  in  Los  Angeles,  else, 
perhaps,  I  might  go  thar.  But  my  fish  find  ther  way 
thar,  yew  bet!  Some  o'  these  very  yaller-tails  will  be 
eat  thar,  by  the  Los  Angeles  angels." 

"Were  you  ever  in  the  city?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"Bet   yer  life!" 

"Is  it  a  place  where  one  might  hope  to  prosper?" 

"Wall,  now  yer^  hev  got  me.  I  couldn't  prosper  thar, 
sure.  If  yer've  got  plenty  o'  money,  perhaps  yer 
might.  Don't  know  'bout  its  bein'  a  very  good  place 
fur  a  poor  man.  What  kind  o'  bisness  yer  goin'  into?" 

"Well,  that  is  uncertain." 

"What  kind  o'  bisness  hev  yer  ben  inter  in  ther  past? 
An'  whar  did  yer  cum  frum?" 

"My  home  was  in  London  until  two  years  ago,  when 
my  mother  died,  leaving  me  alone  in  the  world.  I  then 
went  to  South  Africa,  and  from  there  to  Hong  Kong, 
then  to  India,  from  there  I  have  arrived  here." 

"Wall,  yer  hev  ben  all  around  robinhood's  barn,  an* 
no  mistake.  What'd  yer  expect  ter  find  out  thar  in 
Afriky  among  the  nigger  coons?" 

"Oh,  I  was  not  among  the  Negroes.  There  are  towns 
and  cities,  in  South  Africa,  settled  entirely  by  white 
people.  I  did  not  feel  contented  there,  however,  and 
so  went  to  China.  But  there  I  was  restless,  then  went 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  18 

to  India.  While  there  I  could  think  of  nothing  but 
America,  and  here  I  am." 

"Wall,  ye  must  hev  spent  a  fortin,  travelin'  round 
arter  thet  way?" 

"No;  my  mother  was  in  poverty,  and  when  she  died, 
nothing  was  left  me  but  a  solitary  mill,  which  she  had 
put  into  my  stocking  when  a  little  lad,  as  one  of  a 
number  of  Christmas  presents;  and,  for  a  long  time 
thereafter,  I  thought  the  gifts  were  from  Santa  Glaus." 

"Wall,  how  did  yer  git  money  ter  travel  around  so 
much?" 

"I  went  to  South  Africa  in  the  position  of  gentleman's 
valet.  My  services  were  not  required  after  we  arrived 
there.  I  then  shipped  to  Hong  Kong,  as  captain's  pri- 
vate steward  and  bodyguard;  but  not  caring  to  follow 
the  sea,  I  went  to  India,  paying  my  own  passage,  which 
took  about  all  the  money  I  had;  but  I  did  not  care  for 
a  life  among  the  Hindoos,  and  took  a  place,  as  table- 
waiter,  on  board  a  steamer  which  would  connect  with 
a  Pacific  liner;  then,  once  more  I  took  the  position  of 
waiter.  The  ship  put  in  for  repairs  at  Honolulu,  and 
some  months  would  elapse  before  she  could  again  be 
fit  for  sea  service.  I  took  passage  on  a  sailing  vessel 
for  San  Francisco.  She  was  wrecked,  but  the  crew 
and  one  or  two  who  had  taken  passage,  were  saved. 
All  our  baggage  being  lost  we  were  sent  to  San  Fran- 
cisco, but  were  there  advised  to  go  to  Los  Angeles 
where  the  climate  was  mild  and  the  chances  for  a  poor 
man  better.  My  passage  to  this  port,  was  secured  to 
me  by  the  'Life  Saving  Company'  for  those  who  are 
wrecked  at  sea. 

"I  landed  here  at  five  o'clock,  and  the  mill,  which  my 
mother  gave  me,  is  all  the  money  I  have  in  the  world." 


14  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 


CHAPTER  III. 

"OLE   KISTER." 

"Wall,  now  pard,  yer  wuss  off  nor  I  am,  fur  all  yer 
look  so  much  like  a  dude.  Say,  now,  young  feller, 
what's  yer  name?" 

"My  name  is  Mark  Chester.  Will  you  not  oblige  me 
with  your  name?" 

"Wall,  they  call  me,  around  here,  Molly  Kister — ole 
Molly — ole  kiss— but  occasionally  a  lady  will  call  me 
Mr.  Nathaniel  Kester,  an'  as  ye  hev  ben  so  kind  as 
ter  tell  me  all  about  yerself,  I'll  spin  ye  my  yarn.  I 
cum  frura  Yarni'uth,  I  did,  way  back  in  New  Englan'. 
Wall,  I  wus  thar  sumut  o'  a  fisherman,  but  I  wanted 
ter  cum  ter  Californy  an'  git  gold.  I  onct  bed  a  sweet- 
hart  back  in  Yarm'uth,  but  she  died  an'  thet  made  me 
kind'er  rovin'  yer  see.  Yer  say  as  how  ye  hev  got  but 
one  mill;  wall,  I  hed  nary  a  red  when  I  landed  here 
at  Redonder.  How  wus  I  ter  git  ter  them  thar  moun- 
tains? 'Twas  in  ther  mornin'  when  I  hauled  off  thet 
thar  boat,  the  Corony,  hardly  daylight,  an  'twant  in 
ther  winter,  like  'tis  now,  an'  I  walked  'long  up  ther 
wharf  an'  then  turned  onter  ther  beach  an'  went  an' 
sot  right  down  on  thet  thar  same  bench  as  yer  sot  on 
when  I  fust  seed  yer,  an'  I  axed  a  feller,  as  cum  down 
thar  ter  fish,  whar  them  thar  gold  mines  wus,  an'  he 
telled  me  they  wus  two  hunder'd  miles  away,  off  up 
towerd  the  north. 

" Jerusalem -Jerico!  How  wus  I  ter  git  two  hunder'd 
miles  without  a  cent  o'  cash  an*  nothin*  ter  eat?  Oh 
go  by!  I  don't  want  nothin'  on  yer,"  and  Mr.  Kester 
waved  his  hands  toward  the  north  repudiatingly.  "Go 
by!  What  do  I  want  o'  gold  mines  when  thet  thar 
pond  lies  afore  me?  Thar's  sum'ut  ter  eat  in  thet  thar 
water,  an'  thet  thar  ole  well  up  thar  '11  give  me  sum'ut 
ter  drink.  I  tell  yer  young  feller  thet  thar  sea  hed 
more  charms  fur  me  then  all  the  gold  mines  in  Cali- 
forny, an'  how  I  cum  ter  ever  hev  the  gold  fever,  is  a 
question  thet  I  cau't  ans'er. 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  15 

"Air  yer  troubled  thet  way  much,  young  feller?  e'a'n-a- 
most  all  the  men  about  here  hev  the  fever  bad,  be- 
times." 

"Well,"  answered  Mark,  "I  do  not  think  I  should  care 
to  work  in  the  mines:  It  would  be  rather  a  good  thing, 
though,  to  own  a  large  share  in  a  very  rich  mine." 

"Wall,  thar  air  plenty  o'  them  ter  sell,  ef  ye  hev  ther 
chink,  but  a  mill  wun't  buy  um,  my  boy.  Wall,  as  I 
wus  a  sayin',  I  sot  on  thct  thar  bench,  an'  thet  thar 
man  went  lazily  down  toward  the  water,  an'  I  yelled 
arter  him:  'Look  yer  here,  pardner!  Goin'  a  fishin'?' 

"'Yew  bet!'  he  yelled  back. 

"  'Say!'  an'  he  whirled  his'self  around  an'  looked  at 
me. 

"  'I  say,  pardner:     Can  yer  lend  a  hand  ter  day?' 

"I  jumped  up  an'  yelled  back:   'Yew  bet  I  kin.' 

"'Cum  on  then!'  an'  thet  settled  it  fur  me.  I  went 
with  him  in  his  boat,  an'  we  jest  hauled  in  them  yaller- 
tails  all  day  long,  an'  here  I  hev  been  ever  since.  Yer 
see,  I  got  along  purty  well,  concid'rin*  as  how  I  hed 
nary  a  red.  Twus  three  year  ago  las'  sum'er  sence  I 
cum.  I  shar'd  fur  awhile  with  ther  feller  as  owned 
ther  boat,  an'  at  las'  I  tuck  a  fancy  ter  Molly,  here, 
an'  made  love  ter  her  right  away.  She  was  a  restin' 
high  an*  dry  on  the  sands  when  I  fust  seed  her.  Ther 
man  as  owned  her  wanted  ter  go  to  Alasky,  hed  mis- 
used her  I  relron,  fur  she  was  ruther  shaky,  weak  in 
the  jints,  an'  not  a  bit  o'  paint  on  her  burnt  cheeks; 
but  I  gin  him  fifty  dollars  fur  her;  all  ther  money  I 
culd  spare  then,  an'  Molly  blong'd  ter  me.  Wall,  yer 
bet  I  hed  her  jerk'd  up  in  short  order,  jints  made  stiff, 
bottum  an'  sides  well  corked  up,  an'  then  I  gin  her  all 
ther  paint  she  wanted,  an'  *  she's  ther  bestest  fishin' 
smack  on  this  'ere  shore.  She  hes  arn'd  me  a'ready  nigh 
on  ter  a  thousan*  dollar  an*  five  hundurd  o'  thet  is  snug 
an'  taut.  Now,  thet's  my  story,  boy,  thet  is,  ther  most 
on  it." 

"And  so,  Mr.  Kester,  you  have  never  married?  Are 
there  no  nice  young  ladies  around  here  that  you  remain 
single?" 

"Yung  leddis?  An'  of  whut  use  wuld  a  yung  leddy 
be  ter  roe— ole  Kister?  Yes;  thar  air  yung  leddis  here, 


16  MAKK  CHESTER:    ou 

by  ther  score,  but  when  yer  talk  'bout  gals,  yer  hev 
ine  on  ther  hip;  tliair  all  yung  leddis,  but  nary  a  gal. 
When  ole  Kister  marries,  he  wants  a  gal,  not  a  yung 
leddy;  an'  I  hev  sworn  a  vow,  that  I'll  never  marry 
a  gal  thet's  not  like  what  Molly  wus;  thet  was  ther 
name  of  my  dead  sweethart,  yer  know. 

"Molly  she  culd  go  out  in  a  boat  an'  fish  all  day  with 
ther  best  man  in  all  Yarm'uth,  an'  beat  him  every 
time.  She  culd  paddle  aroun'  on  shore  all  day,  barefut, 
an'  never  catch  cold,  an'  when  night  set  in,  black  an' 
stormy,  as  it  mostly  do'  in  Yarm'uth,  in  winter,  she 
culd  make  a  little  home  look  bright  an'  cumfurble  fur 
her  ole  dad,  fry  the  fish  an'  make  ther  teakittle  sing. 
Thet's  ther  kind  o'  gal  I  want.  None  o'  yer  leddis  fur 
me.  But  I  am  content,  yung  feller.  Molly  might  be 
jelus  ef  I  shud  put  another  in  ther  place  she  hed  made 
up  her  mind  tor  fill." 

"I  understand  by  this,  Mr.  Kester,  that  you  think 
your  old  sweetheart,  Molly,  knows  all  about  you  at  the 
present  time." 

"Thar's  sum'ut  as  hangs  on  thet,"  replied  Mr.  Na- 
thaniel Kester.  "I  didn't  so  think,  but  I'm  blowed  ef 
I  don't  think  so  now.  Listen,  yung  feller.  When  I  go 
out  on  thet  thar  Pacific  in  ther  mornin'  an'  she's  smilin' 
an'  sweet  as  a  baby  an'  I  git  thet  arnest  at  ther  catch- 
in*  o'  them  yaller-tail  beauties,  so  as  ter  forgit  all  about 
ther  signs  o'  ther  wether,  presently  I  hear  Molly 
speakin'  ter  me  soft  like.  'Nathan,'  she  says,  'look  up, 
Nathan,'  an'  I  look  up,  an'  ther  sky  's  got  black'ern 
thunder.  'Hurry,  Nathan,'  she  says  agin;  an'  I  hurry, 
yew  bet;  an'  jist  git  in  afore  ther  storm  breaks.  Young 
feller,  she  hes  saved  me  frum  bein'  wrecked  many  a  time. 

"I  always  smoke  jist  afore  I  turn  in,  an'  no  other 
time,  an*  when  ther  fish  is  all  taken  care  on,  an'  I  gits 
out  my  ole  pipe — an'  thet  reminds  me  as  how  she  used 
ter  fill  it  fur  me  with  her  purty  fingers,  her  ole  dad's 
an'  mine,  thet  we  might  hev  a  sociable  smoke  jest  afore 
I  went  hum,  fur  I  spent  ther  best  o'  my  evenin's  thar 
with  her  dad  an'  hur— it  allers  seems  as  ef  I  culd  see 
her  fingers  pressin'  down  the  terbacker,  an'  then  I  set 
an'  smoke  fur  awhile,  an'  then  it  is  thet  I  feel  soft 
arms  about  my  neck,  an*  a  cool  breath  on  my  cheek, 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  17 

an'  as  I  take  ther  last  wiff,  an'  lay  ther  pipe  down, 
blessed  ef  I  don't  feel  her  sweet  lips  pressed  ter  mine, 
an*  like  as  though  I  hurd  a  voice,  an'  it  says,  'Cheer  up, 
Nathan — cheer  up  my  man;  it  is  I,  Molly,  an*  no  mis- 
take. You'd  not  best  git  another  gal,  an'  then  I'll  stay 
by  yer,  an'  be  a  careful  an'  lovin'  wife  ter  ye,  'til  yer 
cum  here  too.'  An'  onct  or  twice  I  saw  her  as  plain 
as  I  am  lookin'  at  yer  now." 

Mr.  Kester's  eyes,  which  were,  by  the  way,  very  fine 
and  large,  were  glowing  softly  in  the  moonlight  and  his 
bronzed  face  became  radiant.  He  sighed  gently  as  he 
took  the  last  fish  from  the  boat. 

"Wall,"  he  said,  "we  hev  got  urn  purty  nigh  all 
cleaned,  an'  it's  ony  half-past  'leven.  Ye  hev  got  plenty 
o'  time,  yung  feller,  an'  yer  jist  go  right  up  thar  ter 
thet  thar  gran*  hotel  an'  stay  fur  the  rest  o'  ther  night. 
Here's  a  dollar  an'  a  half  fur  ther  work  ye  hev  done 
fur  me.  Yer'll  git  a  decent  room,  bed,  an'  breakfast 
fur  a  dollar,  ef  yer  tell  um  ole  Kister  sent  ye.  I'm  fraid 
yer'll  hev  ter  pay  a  dollar  an'  a  half  ef  yer  don't.  They 
favor  me,  yer  see,  an'  them  as  wurks  fur  me,  an'  they 
buys  plenty  o'  yaller-tails  o'  me,  likewise." 

Mr.  Kester  laid  down  his  last  fish;  the  fire  was  burn- 
ing dimly,  and  the  cold  was  becoming  unendurable. 

"I  carnt  make  yer  comfurble  in  ther  boat,"  said 
Nathan,  "or  yer  might  save  ther  dollar.  Thar's  ony 
one  place  in  it  whar  a  man  kin  sleep,  an'  thar's  whar 
I  sleep.  Yer  kin  take  a  peek  inter  it  ef  yer  like." 

They  arose  from  the  sands,  and  Nathan  opened  a 
couple  of  little  doors  that  closed  the  space  beneath  a 
broad  seat  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  exposing  to  view 
quite  a  comfortable  bed  and  bedding. 

"Yer  see,"  he  said,  "I  kin  sleep  all  right  in  thar,  but 
thar's  no  room  ter  spare.  Molly  an  I'll  take  our  smoke 
now,  an'  then  I'll  turn  in.  Look  yer  here,  yung  feller! 
I  like  ther  looks  on  yer,  an'  I  like  yer  wurk,  an'  ef 
ther  wust  cums  ter  ther  wust,  I'll  see  yer  agin,  mayn't 
I?" 

"I  hope  you  will  see  me  very  many  times.  I  shall 
never  forget  you,  Mr.  Kester;  and  I  sincerely  thank  you 
for  your  kindness  and  good  opinion." 

The  young  man  turned  down  his  sleeves,  buttoned  on 


18  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

his  cuffs,  removed  the  old  oil  coat  with  the  help  of  the 
fisherman,  untied  the  tarpaulin,  looking  none  the  worse 
for  the  three  hours  of  cold,  dirty,  disagreeable  work. 
He  had  thoroughly,  and  carefully  washed  his  hands, 
that  no  odor  of  fish  might  attach  to  them. 

"Good  night,  young  feller!"  called  Mr.  Kester,  as 
Mark  turned  his  footsteps  toward  the  hotel. 

"Good  night,  and  happy  dreams  of  Molly,"  returned 
Mark,  as  he  wended  his  way  upward;  for  the  grand 
hotel  stood  on  quite  a  commanding  elevation. 


A    MILL    AND    A   MILLION.  19 


CHAPTER    IV. 


As  Mark  drew  near  the  hotel,  he  perceived  that  the 
windows  were  ablaze  with  light;  and  strains  of  music 
caught  his  ear;  while  many  carriages  were  waiting 
around,  and  near  the  grand  entrance. 

"Ah!   A  fete,"    mused  young   Chester. 

As  he  mounted  the  steps  of  the  spacious  veranda,  he 
stepped  one  side  to  allow  a  young  lady  and  gentleman 
to  pass.  He  started  back  in  surprise  as  his  eyes  rested 
upon  the  young  man. 

What  could  be  the  meaning  of  that  which  he  saw? 
Was  it  his  double?  But  for  the  young  lady  hanging  on 
the  arm  of  the  stranger,  he  might  suppose  himself  look- 
ing in  a  mirror  at  his  own  reflection;  but  the  young 
people  descended  the  steps  and  entering  one  of  the  car- 
riages were  driven  rapidly  away. 

Chester  turned,  entered  the  hotel,  and  found  his  way 
to  the  office.  The  clerk  stared  at  him  inquiringly. 

"Beg  pardon,  Mr.  Chesterfield,"  said  he,  respectfully, 
"but  I  thought  you  had  just  driven  away  in  your  car- 
riage." 

Mark   smiled. 

"I  think  you  are  mistaken  in  my  identity,"   he  said. 

The  clerk  still  stared  incredulously,  but  turned  the 
hotel  register  toward  him.  Mark  inscribed  his  name, 
then  turned  the  book  back.  The  clerk  glanced  at  it 
surprisingly.  There,  in  a  bold,  round  hand,  was  written: 
?.Iark  Chester,  Hong  Kong. 

Mark  then  stated  that  he  would  like  a  cheap,  quiet 
room,  for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  and  breakfast  on 
the  following  morning.  One  of  the  attendants,  taking 
down  a  key,  beckoned  him  to  follow,  which  he  did  wil- 
lingly. He  was  shown  into  a  small  but  neat  and  com- 
fortable room  well  warmed  by  an  open  grate. 

Young    Chester,   being  very   weary,   quickly    retired. 

The  hotel  clerk  down  stairs  was  still  staring  at  the 
register. 


20  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

"Wonder  what  devilment  he  is  up  to  now?  I  could 
have  sworn  I  saw  him  get  into  that  carriage,  and  be- 
fore I  could  turn  about  there  he  stood.  Mark  Chester: 
Indeed!  A  cheap  room?  Well,  that  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  knew  him  to  order  anything  cheap.  He  is  up  to 
some  trick;  of  that  I  am  sure;  but  I  will  keep  my  eyes 
open.  Why  did  he  sign  a  name  so  much  like  his  own? 
Mark  Chester — Marcus  Chesterfield.  Well,  I  do  not 
pretend  to  understand  it  at  all.  It  would  take  one 
above  the  ordinary  to  take  cognizance  of  all  his  mad 
pranks.  I  suppose  a  millionaire  can  do  about  as  he 
pleases,  but  if  he  had  been  a  poor  man,  he  would  have 
been  in  the  chain  gang,  or  penitentiary,  long  before  this. 
Ah,  the  carriage  has  returned.  Now  we  shall  know 
more  about  it,"  and  presently  Mr.  Marcus  Chesterfield 
entered  the  office.  The  clerk  looked  blankly  at  him. 

"This  is  the  first  time  in  my  life,"  he  muttered,  "that 
I  ever  saw  two  people  look  exactly  alike;  yet  they  are 
different  in  manner  and  expression.  The  face  of  one 
is  that  of  a  devil-may-care,  the  other  thoughtful  and 
slightly  dejected,  if  I  am  any  judge." 

Mr.  Chesterfield  took  an  expensive  cigar  from  a  gold 
case,  lighted  it,  and  between  bejewelled  fingers  carried 
it  to  his  lips. 

"Deuced  cold  night!"  he  ejaculated,  as  he  lazily  sent 
forth  wreaths  of  smoke,  head  on  one  side,  and  one  eye 
half  closed.  "Any  new  arrivals,  this  evening?" 

"Onljr  one,"  replied  the  clerk.  "A  young  man,"  But 
he  mentally  reserved  the  remainder  of  the  sentence — so 
much  like  yourself  that  you  might  be  twins. 

Mr.  Marcus  Chesterfield  examined  the  register  with 
a  nonchalant  air. 

"Mark  Chester.  Whew!  W^hy  did  he  not  call  him- 
self by  my  name,  and  done  with  it?  Hong  Kong.  Is 
he  a  Chinese,  then?" 

"Not   a   native,   certainly,"   answered   the   clerk. 

"Young,   or  old?" 

"Young:  About  your  own  age,  I  should  say.  A  young 
man,  as  I  said  at  first,  I  think." 

"Does  he  look  like  a  person  one  could  associate  with?" 
asked  Marcus.  "It  is  getting  very  desolate  here.  One 
needs  some  companionship,  you  know." 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  21 

"A  very  respectable  looking  young  man,  indeed,"  re- 
plied the  clerk. 

"Used   to   good   society,   should    you   judge?" 

"Impossible  to  say,  on  so  short  an  acquaintance.  He 
remained  just  long  enough  to  write  his  name  and  in- 
form me  that  he  desired  a  cheap,  small  room,  with 
vrhich  he  was,  forthwith,  provided." 

"Ah,  well,  au  revoir,"  returned  Marcus,  a  shade  of 
rnnui  and  slight  disgust  crossing  his  countenance. 

"Good  night,''  returned  the  clerk,  politely.  "Anything 
you  would  like  sent  up?" 

"Yes;  yes.  I  think  so.  A  bottle  of  champagne,  please, 
and  some  pate  de  froid  gras,  and  see  that  the  fires  in 
the  grates  are  made  bright  and  brisk.  I  thought  it  was 
eternal  summer  here  in  this  part  of  the  world.  One 
might  as  well  be  at  the  North  Pole  on  such  a  night  as 
this;"  and  with  a  shrug  and  shiver,  the  young  million- 
aire ascended  to  his  sumptuous  apartments,  the  best  pri- 
vate suite  the  hotel  afforded. 

The  rooms  were  bright  and  luxurious  in  the  extreme. 
The  refreshments  soon  stood  before  the  young  man,  on 
the  marble  table,  together  with  the  finest  of  damask, 
clearest  Qf  cut  glass,  the  brightest  of  silver,  and  the  dain- 
tiest of  china. 

Young  Chesterfield  sat  luxuriously  sipping  champagne 
and  eating  choice  morsels;  and  he  mused: 

"How  delighted  the  mother  was,  because  I  took  them 
home  in  my  carriage.  I  would  like  to  be  as  certain  of 
the  daughter's  feelings.  I  would  like  to  know  just  what 
she  thinks  of  me.  Her  manner  is  rather  cold  and  dis- 
tant toward  me,  yet  she  danced  with  me  a  number  of 
times;  but  her  eyes— those  beautiful  eyes— they  scarcely 
ever  look  into  mine;  and,  when  by  chance  I  meet  their 
glance,  I  read  no  love — no  admiration  within  them." 

He  tossed   off   another  glass   of   champagne. 

"The  mother  would  like  to  marry  her  daughter  to  my 
millions;  of  that  I  feel  assured:  but  the  daughter? 
Time  and  flattering  attentions  may  yet  win  her.  But 
after  all,  what  do  I  want  of  a  poverty-stricken  wife? 
Her  beauty  would  soon  pale.  I  know  that  I  should 
shortly  grow  tired  of  her.  Some  other  beautiful  woman 
would  attract  my  attention.  In  fact,  I  am  more  than 


22  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

half  in  love  with  that  tall,  dark  eyed — rathor  weird  eyes 
they  are  too — dark  haired  beauty  shall  I  say?  No,  she 
is  not  really  beautiful;  still,  she  is  very  attractive.  I 
must  know  more  of  her— get  better  acquainted.  She? 
Well;  she  rather  seeks  my  society  than  otherwise,  and 
those  flashing  orbs  of  hers  look  straight  into  mine  as 
though  striving  to  hold  me  with  a  potent  spell.  I  hear 
a  great  deal  about  hypnotism.  Just  now  it  is  quite  the 
fad.  I  wonder  if  women  have  the  power  to  hypnotize 
men?  I  don't  know  why  turn  about  is  not  fair  play. 

"We  hear  of  the  male  sex  exerting  hypnotic  power 
over  the  weaker  sex,  but  not  so  much  of  the  power  of 
the  female  hypnotizing  the  male. 

"Mesmerism,  hypnotism;  I  should  like  to  understand 
what  the  power  really  is— to  analyze  it.  I  am  rather 
given  to  analytical  research,"  and  he  tossed  off  another 
glass  of  champagne. 

"Well,  eyes  are  eyes;  but  the  power  behind  the  eyes, 
therein  lies  hypnotism.  Ugh!  I  see  those  great  black 
eyes  shining  upon  me  now,  and  I  could  take  my  oath 
there  is  a  shadowy  form  connected  with  them.  Well, 
I  have  no  fear  of  ghosts,  or  shadowy  forms.  I  am 
rather  partial  to  them,  than  otherwise.  That,  surely, 
can  be  no  ghost,  for  it  takes  on  the  form  of  the  very 
black-eyed  girl  I  flirted  with  tonight.  But,  I  was  very 
careful  not  to  be  observed  by  that  mother  and'  daughter. 

"I  have  heard  and  read  of  such  things  as  apparitions 
of  the  living.  I  will  put  out  the  gas,  place  this  light 
screen  before  the  fire:  perhaps,  by  so  doing,  I  shall  be 
able  to  see  what  those  eyes  mean." 

He  suited  his  actions  to  his  words,  then  threw  him- 
self once  more  into  the  depths  of  the  easy  chair. 

"Really,"  he  continued,  "this  is  the  witching  hour- 
two  o'clock— and  not  a  sound  to  be  heard  throughout 
this  large  house. 

"Ah!  There  are  the  eyes  again;  and  the  form  is 
much  more  distinct.  Its  shadowy  arms  are  stretched 
forth  toward  me,  and  the  eyes  are  burning  into  my 
soul;  but  the  eyes  are  not  holy  eyes:  I  know  that.  I 
feel  that  ostentation  and  greed  hide  within  their  bright- 
Bess;  those  shadowy  hands  would  clutch  at  me,  not 


A   MILL    AND    A   MILLION.  23 

alone    for    myself,    but    for    money    and    the    position    I 
should  give   her. 

"Now  that  I  have  read  their  language,  they  slink 
away  into  the  dark  shadows.  The  form  is  gone  also, 
and  I  had  best  retire  and  let  sleep  cool  my  fevered 
brain."  Which  he  accordingly  did. 


24  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 


CHAPTER  V. 

MOTHER  AND   DAUGHTER. 

Let  us  look  in,  for  a  moment,  on  the  mother  and 
daughter. 

On  leaving  the  carriage,  they  went  directly  to  their 
own  rooms.  A  serving  maid  was  sitting  before  the 
grate,  awaiting  them.  They  were  soon  divested  of  their 
wraps  and  evening  dresses. 

We  like  to  see  ladies  within  their  own  homes,  in  their 
easy  wrappers  and  unbound  hair;  for  we  can  get  a 
better  idea  of  their  true  characters.  The  mother  is  a 
large,  fine-looking  lady,  of  about  forty  years,  and  car- 
ries those  years  easily.  Look  as  closely  as  we  may, 
we  cannot  discover  any  silver  threads  amongst  the  gold. 
The  gold  is  long  and  abundant,  falling  half  way  to  the 
floor.  The  large,  blue  eyes  are  still  bright  and  expres- 
sive. Her  complexion  is  clear,  but  somewhat  pale.  The 
form  is  full  and  matronly,  but  still  retaining  much  of 
womanly  grace.  She  carries  her  head  somewhat  haugh- 
tily, and  we  feel  intuitively  that  she  is  one  to  be  obeyed; 
and,  while  the  maid  is  still  employed  brushing  out  her 
beautiful  hair,  we  will  take  a  survey  of  the  daughter. 

She  is  cast  in  the  same  mould  as  her  mother.  Still, 
in  many  respects  they  are  diametrically  opposite.  The 
daughter  is  as  fair  and  sweet  as  the  fairest  and  sweet- 
est of  southern  California's  sunniest  and  brightest  of 
days.  She  has  long  golden  hair,  like  her  mother's,  yet 
it  ripples  more,  and  clings  more  softly.  She  is  not  much 
taller  than  her  mother,  but  so  slight  of  form  that  one 
would  think  her  so.  Her  eyes  are  in  form  and  color 
like  the  elder  lady's,  but  where  the  expression  of  one 
is  imperious,  the  other  is  dreamy  and  spirituelle.  She 
has  the  sweetest  of  rose-bud  lips,  together  with  a  large, 
well  developed  forehead;  fair  complexion,  dainty  hands 
and  feet,  and  a  white,  swan-like  neck. 

"Good  night,  ma'am,"  said  the  maid,  as  she  took  her 
departure.  "It  is  nearing  one  o'clock,  and  I  must  be 
up  in  the  morning  in  good  time." 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  25 

"Good  night,"  returned  both  mother  and  daughter,  and 
they  were  left  alone  with  the  warm  firelight  shining 
full  upon  them. 

"Isa,  dear;  how  very  kind  of  Mr.  Chesterfield  to 
bring  us  home  in  his  elegant  carriage.  We  may  surely 
feel  quite  honored." 

Isa  yawned. 

"Do  you  take  it  that  way,  mother?  We  had  but  a 
few  steps  to  come,  and  I  would  much  rather  have 
walked.  I  felt  greatly  oppressed  shut  up  within  that 
close  carriage." 

"Oppressed?"  echoed  Mrs.  Morton.  "Does  such  luxu- 
rious elegance  oppress  you?  It  seemed  to  me  that  I 
was  returning  to  my  former  estate.  For  the  moment  I 
dreamed  myself  once  more  a  girl,  rolling  home  from  the 
opera,  or,  perhaps,  a  grand  ball,  in  my  own  carriage," 
and  Mrs.  Morton  heaved  a  sigh  of  regret.  "Oh!  Isa, 
little  girl,  you  have  never  known  the  meaning  of  the 
word  opulence." 

"But,  mama,  dear,  I  have  been  very,  very  happy  as 
we  are.  We  have  never  wanted  for  anything." 

"Wanted,  Isa,   I   have  wanted   for  everything." 

"But  I  mean,  mama,  we  have  never  been  hungry  or 
cold,  or  without  shelter." 

"No;  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  I  admit;  but  we  might 
have  been  hungry  and  cold  if  I  had  not  taken  summer 
boarders  and  lodgers,  thereby  gaining  the  wherewith  to 
keep  ns  from  actual  want.  Mr.  Chesterfield  was  quite 
attentive  to  you  all  the  evening,  Isa;  but  I  thought 
your  manner  toward  him  very  cool  indeed." 

"And  why,  pray,  should  my  manner  toward  him  be 
otherwise?" 

"O,  Isa;  how  can  you  ask  such  a  question?  Mr. 
Chesterfield  is  a  millionaire;  the  only  really  wealthy 
man  who  has  ever  paid  you  unmistakable  attentions." 

"I  wish  that  his  attentions  were  less  unmistakable.  I 
certainly  would  not  encourage  them;  and  I  feel  myself 
greatly  to  blame  for  dancing  with  him  more  than  once 
this  evening.  Mama,  it  was  your  urging  that  caused 
me  to  consent." 

"I  cannot  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Morton,  with  some 
asperity,  "why  you  should  hold  yourself  aloof  from  a 


26  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

handsome,  extremely  wealthy,  highly  bred  young  man; 
tae  ri<  host,  most  attractive  and  gentlemanly  man  you 
have  ever  met;  and  we  have  never  heard  aught  against 
him.  His  reputation  as  a  man  of  honor  I  have  never 
heard  assailed.  Isa,  to  see  you  the  wife  of  such  a  man 
would  make  me  happy." 

"Mother,  dear,  I  would  like  to  make  you  happy,  but 
could  you  be  happy  knowing  that  I  was  miserable?" 

"Miserable,  my  daughter?  Why  miserable?  Would 
it  not  make  you  happy  to  be  the  wife  of  a  rich  and 
handsome  man?" 

"No,  mama,  dear;  it  would  not  unless  I  loved  him, 
and  could  honor  him  above  all  other  men." 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  you  could  not  love  and 
honor  Marcus  Chesterfield?" 

"Perhaps  not,  as  you  look  at  it,  mama;  at  least,  I 
do  not  know  of  any;  but  I  certainly  do  not  love  him." 

"Of  course,  not  yet;  for  he  has  not  proposed.  But 
you  may  love  him  when  the  proper  time  comes.  I  have 
had  experience  enough  in  my  past  life  to  know  that  he 
will  soon  propose;  and,  surely,  you  cannot  be  so  blind 
to  your  own  interests,  and  my  happiness,  as  to  refuse 
him.  Isa,  I  little  thought  that  such  honor  would  ever 
be  conferred  on  you.  the  daughter  of  a  lodging  and 
boarding-house  keeper.  To  be  sure  I  was  once  the 
heiress  to  a  million  myself,  was  a  belle  and  moved  in 
the  best  society,  but  that  was  long  ago,  before  you  can 
remember.  My  dear,  you  do  not  even  remember  how 
your  father  looked,  do  you?" 

"Yes,  mother.  I  recall  him  very  faintly  indeed,  and 
when  I  look  at  Mr.  Chesterfield,  I  seem,  for  the  mo- 
ment, to  be  a  little  child  once  more  and  he — my  father — 
he  must  have  looked  very  much  like  Mr.  Chesterfield?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  mother,  musingly;  "he  did.  Father 
and  son  could  not  resemble  each  other  more;  but  your 
father,  dear,  was  an  English  nobleman;  or,  at  least,  I 
so  supposed  him  to  be.  I  well  remember  my  delight 
when  he  proposed  to  me.  He  said  that  his  fortunes 
were  fallen  but  that  his  honor  and  good  name  were  un- 
tarnished. We  were  married,  and  for  two  years  I  was 
happier  than  the  happiest.  You  were  born,  Isa,  and 
I  foolishly  thought  that  misfortune  could  never  touch 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  27 

me.  When  you  were  three  years  of  age  the  great 
calamity  fell.  Your  father  came  home  one  day,  wild 
and  dishevelled,  saying  that  all  was  lost.  He,  an  Eng- 
lishman, did  not  understand  the  ways  of  Wall  Street. 
He  had  invested  largely  in  mining  stocks,  railroad  bonds 
and  what  not,  confidently  expecting  to  quadruple  his 
money;  but,  instead,  had  lost  all,  or  nearly  all.  Some 
few  thousands  were  left  to  you  and  me,  the  rest  was 
irretrievably  lost.  He  acted  like  one  bereft  of  reason. 
That  night  he  disappeared,  and  I  have  never  seen  or 
heard  of  him  since.  All  this  happened  in  the  city  of, 
New  York,  dear,  as  you  know.  I  could  not  remain 
there;  I  must  go  forth  and  try  to  find  him,  so  I  thought. 
I  traveled  here,  there  and  everywhere,  for  a  year,  but 
obtained  no  clue  to  his  whereabouts.  Ey  the  time  I 
reached  San  Francisco  I  became  entirely  disheartened. 
The  climate  there  was  so  disagreeable  that  I  kept  on 
to  Los  Angeles.  I  had  but  a  few  thousands  left  now; 
the  summer  sun  was  so  blazing  that  the  cool  Pacific 
enticed  me;  I  purchased  this  house,  dear,  and  the  acre 
of  land  on  which  it  stands,  and  then  I  had  a  few  hun- 
dreds left.  If  I  must  earn  my  own 'support  and  yours, 
I  thought  the  easiest  way  would  be  to  turn  my  home 
into  a  summer  boarding  and  lodging  house.  To  be  sure 
it  has  made  us  comfortable.  We  have  not  been  cold, 
hungry,  or  shelterless,  and  I  have  been  enabled,  thereby, 
to  .rive  you  a  good  education;  but  this  property  will  be 
your  only  portion;  then,  Isa,  how  can  you  think  of  re- 
fusing the  immense  wealth  that  might  be  yours?" 

"But,  mama,  it  was  your  wealth  that,  at  last,  caused 
your  sorrows,  disappointments,  and  worse  than  widow- 
hood. We  do  not  even  know  whether  my  father  is  dead 
or  alive.  I  can  never  be  happier  than  I  have  been  here 
with  you,  mama,  and  it  is  no  disgrace  to  keep  a  small, 
quiet  hotel,  such  as  this  is — a  little  home-like  hotel — 
you  know  I  never  call  it  a  boarding-house.  I  always 
say  smal1,  private  hotel." 

"Well,  it  is  all  one  and  the  same  thing.  I  earn  my 
living  by  keeping  summer  boarders  from  Los  Angeles- 
travelers  from  the  Eastern  States  who  visit  California — 
and  so  forth;  but  I  would  like  my  daughter  to  marry 


28  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

one  who  could  reinstate  us  both— one  who  could  put  you 
into  the    position   once  occupied   by    your   mother." 

"Heaven  forbid!"  ejaculated  Isa.  "Do  you  wish  me 
to  be  left  worse  than  widowed,  and  my  child,  if  I  should 
have  one,  fatherless?" 

"Certainly  not!''  said  Mrs.  Morton  with  great  em- 
phasis. "Certainly  not!  What  could  put  such  a 
thought  into  your  head?  I  think  if  the  money  your 
father  lost  had  belonged  to  himself,  and  I  had  been 
comparatively  poor,  he  would  not  have  disappeared." 

"Mama,  I  believe  money  to  be  the  root  of  all  un- 
happiness  and  evil.  If  you  and  my  father  had  both 
been  in  poverty,  and  had  your  own  way  to  make,  you 
might  have  lived  happily  together  until  the  present  time; 
I  should  have  had  a  father,  you  the  protecting  care  of 
a  husband;  and  you  might  not  have  been  obliged  to  keep 
a  private  hotel.  Now,I  don't  know  how  it  is,  mama, 
dear,  but  I  like  almost  anything  better  than  riches.  I 
feel  a  secret  antipathy  toward  the  very  wealthy.  I 
think  this  little  hotel  is  all  right.  I  should  be  willing 
to  keep  one  myself  if  I  were  to  marry  a  gentleman  who 
had  very  little  but  himself  to  offer  me." 

"Oh!  Isa,  why  will  you  not  look  upon  Mr.  Chester- 
field's suit  with  favorable  eyes?  Your  low-down  ideas 
cause  me  great  unhappiness." 

"Because  I  cannot,  first  of  all;  also,  I  do  not  love 
him:  and,  moreover,  I  distrust  him  greatly.  There 
must  be  an  undercurrent  of  badness  in  his  nature  or  I 
should  not  feel  thus  when  in  his  presence;  and  there  is 
something  else  about  him,  mama,  that  I  do  not  pre- 
tend to  understand.  I  only  wish  I  could.  Whenever 
he  approaches  me,  I  sense  the  presence  of  a  tall,  dark- 
eyed  lady;  I  do  not  see  her  with  my  natural  eyes,  and 
yet  she  is  as  real  to  me  as  though  I  did.  Her  eyes  are 
weird  and  black.  If  I  try  to  look  at  him,  I  am  look- 
ing at  her  instead.  If  he  speaks  to  me,  she  speaks  to 
me.  Her  voice  may  be  inaudible  to  others,  but  I  am 
conscious  of  what  she  says.  If  he  tells  me  I  am  beau- 
tiful, her  lips  curl  scornfully  as  she  says,  'he  tells  me 
the  same,'  and  yet  we  are  not  at  all  alike.  When  I  am 
dancing  with  him,  her  form  is  between  us — she  is  nearer 
to  him  than  I  am— and  I  feel  that  I  must  certainly  take 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  29 

my  seat,  and  have  done  so  a  number  of  times,  very 
much  to  his  chagrin  I  am  sure.  Of  course  I  could  not 
tell  him  of  this,  for  it  is  something  invisible  to  all  others 
but  myself.  Mama,  he  is  not  an  honorable  or  true- 
hearted  man.  I  feel  sure  of  that,  although  no  one  says 
aught  against  him." 

"You  are  jealous,  Isa.  There  is  not  a  young  lady 
about  here  who  resembles  in  the  least  the  person,  or 
rather  the  imaginary  being,  you  describe.  I  beg  of  you 
not  to  give  v/ay  to  such  foolish  fancies — and,  even  if 
some  young  lady  were  in  love  with  him,  it  would  be 
nothing  strange — he  is  very  fine  looking  and  exceedingly 
wealthy.  Young  ladies,  as  a  rule,  are  not  proof  against 
rich,  fine  looking  men.  It  does  not  go  to  prove  that  he 
may  be  in  love  also,  Isa.  I  feel  sure  that  he  loves  you 
and  you  alone;  and  you  will  find  that  mother  is  right." 

"Well,  thank  heaven,  he  has  not  asked  me  to  marry 
him  yet.  I  will  not  trouble  myself  about  it  until  he 
does,  which  may  never  happen,  as  I  most  devoutly  hope 
it  will  not.  I  intend  to  avoid  him  as  much  as  possible 
that  he  may  never  find  an  opportunity.  Mama,  per- 
haps he  never  even  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  am 
sure  a  hotel  keeper's  daughter  is  not  in  his  station  of 
life;  he  will,  probably,  seek  a  wealthy  lady — one  who 
has  wealth  and  station  equal  to  his  own — and  may  I 
dance  at  his  wedding."  saying  which,  Isa  arose  and 
sought  her  couch. 


30  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE   TALKING   SPECTRE. 

The  mother  sat,  still  musing,  gazing  into  the  blazing 
coals  within  the  grate,  sighing  disappointedly  at  her 
daughter's  lack  of  ambitious  desires. 

"My  will  has,  thus  far,  been  ner  law,"  she  thought. 
"A  more  obedient  daughter  never  lived.  She  has  been 
as  pliant  wax  in  my  hands.  This  is  the  first  time  she 
has  ever  expressed  an  opinion  differing  from  mine.  I 
must  overrule  her  for  her  own  good.  She  shall  obey 
me  in  this  matter— am  I  not  her  mother?  And  is  it  not 
God's  express  command  that  children  should  obey  their 
parents?  She  shall  not  throw  herself  away  on  a  poor 
and  unknown  suitor.  I  am  determined  she  shall  marry 
this  exceedingly  wealthy  young  man.  If  all  accounts 
are  true  he  is  destined  to  become  a  second  Vanderbilt. 
Mr.  Chesterfield,  the  father  of  Marcus,  not  only  left  his 
son  a  cool  million,  but  one  of  the  richest  mines  in  all 
California;  and  that  is  what  brings  the  son  here;  he  is 
personally  overseeing  the  mine.  I  have  been  informed, 
by  those  who  know  all  about  such  things,  that  the  mine 
will  yield  many  millions  more.  Oh!  How  can  Isabel 
be  so  blind  to  her  own  interests?  But  she  is  ignorant 
of  the  world — scarcely  ever  having  left  Redondo.  We 
have  not  been  rich  enough  to  travel  very  much;  a  little 
trip  to  San  Diego  and  Coranado;  and  once,  or  twice, 
to  Catalina  Island;  once  to  Mount  Lowe;  about  ten  or 
a  dozen  visits  to  Los  Angeles;  and  once,  only,  to  San 
Francisco;  this  is  all  the  child  really  knows  of  the 
world.  She  has  always  been  very  innocent  and  unso- 
phisticated; but,  here  and  now,  this  must  end;  she  must 
become  a  woman  and  be  made  to  comprehend  the  differ- 
ence between  the  rich  and  the  poor.  She  will  really 
yield  to  my  wishes,  as  she  always  has  done,  when  she 
finds  that  she  must.  It  rests  with  her,  now,  whether 
my  dreams  will  ever  be  realized  or  not. 

"Here  I  am  but  forty  years  of  age — oh,  how  much  I 
may  enjoy  before  I  reach  sixty— and,  really,  one  is  not 


A  MILL   AND   A  MILLION.  81 

a  very  old  lady  before  sixty,  and  I  have  seen  those 
who  could  enjoy  much  even  after  that  age.  Now  tet 
me  see  what  Isa's  marriage  to  young  Chesterfield  would 
lead  to.  A  princely  home  in  New  York,  the  city  of 
my  birth  and  home  of  my  girlhood,  a  beautiful  mansion 
on  the  Hudson,  a  few  years  of  travel  in  the  old  world— 
and  I  should  visit  all  the  places  of  note  or  interest  on 
the  globe — in  all  probability  be  introduced  •  to  the  Queen 
and  her  court — enjoy  all  this  world  can  give,  have  a 
retinue  of  servants  at  my  command;  all  this  as  the 
mother  of  Marcus  Owsterfield's  wife  I  shall  be  entitled 
to,  for  Isa  will  b*  sure  to  see  that  I  have  all  that  she 
does,  and  mofe  if  possible.  Even  as  it  is,  she  relieves 
me  of  the  greater  part  of  the  care  of  this  house.  She 
manages  the  servants  far  better  than  I  can  already, 
young  as  she  is.  The  best  of  everything  is  for  mother. 
Then,  she  is  so  capable,  she  seems  to  understand  intui- 
tively just  how  everything  should  be  done;  and  she  sees 
that  it  is  done,  and  done  well. 

"Oh,  yes;  when  she  becomes  the  wife  of  a  million- 
aire, wealth,  honor  and  happiness  will  be  mine;  my 
dreams  will  all  be  at  last  realized  through  her.  My 
owa  young  womanhood  was  one  of  bitter  sorrow  and 
disappointment.  At  last  I  shall  meet  with  a  just  rec- 
ompense." 

Her  eyes  closed  with  the  happy  thought;  and,  imme- 
diately, as  she  supposed,  they  opened  to  stare  with  as- 
tonishment at  a  figure  standing  by  the  other  side  of 
the  small  fireplace,  one  arm  resting  lightly  on  the  man- 
tle, the  large,  dark,  weird  eyes  holding  hers  in  a  resist- 
less spell. 

The  form  was  that  of  a  handsome  young  woman,  per- 
haps twenty-one  or  two  years  of  age;  dark  haired,  regu- 
lar featured  and  pale.  She  carried  with  her  a  look  of 
determination.  She  spoke,  or  at  least  Mrs.  Morton 
thought  so. 

"So  you  are  determined  to  marry  your  daughter  to 
Marcus  Chesterfield,  whether  she  will  or  no.  Madam, 
are  you  not  reckoning  without  your  host?  You  have  not 
yet  taken  me  into  consideration.  I  shall  most  certainly 
object  to  the  union." 

"And  who  are  you,  pray,  that  you  thus  intrude  upon 


82  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

me  in  my  own  private  apartments?  What  one  of  my 
servants  has  dared  admit  you  here,  at  this  time  of  night, 
without  first  consulting  me?" 

"O,  I  have  not  asked  your  servants  to  admit  me,"  said 
the  weird  lady,  airily:  "1  did  not  consult  them  about  it." 

"But  the  doors  and  windows  of  this  house  are  all  fas- 
tened, or,  certainly  should  be.  My  housekeeper  has 
never  failed  in  this  respect  before.  I  must  positively 
discharge  her  for  her  carelessness." 

"Your  doors  and  windows  are  all  fastened,  madam. 
You  are  not  called  upon  to  discharge  your  housekeeper. 
She  is  a  jewel,  no  doubt.  I  did  not  enter  here  through 
barred  doors  or  windows  and  yet  I  am  here  as  you  see; 
and,  now  that  I  am  here,  I  wish  to  converse  with  you 
on  a  subject  of  very  great  importance  to  myself." 

"I  must  know,  first,  how  you  entered  this  room." 

"Because  I  willed  to  do  so." 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it,"  asked  Mrs.  Morton,  "if 
my  servants  did  not  obey  your  will  and  admit  you?" 

"Nevertheless,  they  did  not,  I  assure  you.  By  my 
strength  of  will  power  I  have  overcome  all  material  ob- 
stacles, and,  consequently,  stand  before  you." 

"You  are  falsifying!"  cried  Mrs.  Morton,  indignantly, 
"and  to  carry  your  own  point  are  screening  my  servants, 
or  some  one  of  them." 

"You  are  wrong;  but  we  will  not  quarrel  about  it.  My 
mission  here  is  too  important  to  waste  time  on  so  trivial 
a  subject.  Something  far  more  important  engrosses  my 
mind  just  now.  Are  you  aware,  madam,  that  the  human 
will  can  overcome  all  obstacles  that  may  intervene  or 
rise  up  to  obstruct  or  thwart  it?" 

"No:  I  do  not  know  it,  neither  do  I  believe  it." 

"Then  you  are  not  willing  to  believe  your  own  eyes 
and  ears?  But,  I  pray,  let  us  not  waste  words.  Madam, 
your  daughter  shall  not  marry  Marcus  Chesterfield!" 

"Shall  not?  Your  impudence  is  unparalleled,  whoever 
you  are.  Shall  not?  And,  who  can  prevent  it,  pray,  if 
the  parties  most  concerned  are  agreed?" 

"And  who,  may  I  ask,  are  the  parties  most  con- 
cerned?" 

"Marcus  Chesterfield,  my  daughter  and  myself;  his 
parents  both  being  dead." 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  38 

"Both  being  dead?"  laughed  the  weird  lady.  "Dead, 
madam?  There  is  110  such  thing  as  death." 

"We  will  not  split  hairs  on  that  question,"  said  Mrs. 
Morton.  "They  have  departed  this  life,  and,  no  doubt, 
are  angels  before  the  throne  of  God;  at  least,  we  will 
hope  so.  There  is  no  one  to  object  to  my  daughter's 
union  with  her  just  as  good  as  affianced  husband.  Who 
you  may  be,  does  not  matter.  A  jealous  woman,  no 
doubt,  who  desires  to  win  him  for  herself.  He  told  me, 
with  his  own  lips,  that  he  was  entirely  free— had  never, 
even,  spoken  of  love  to  any  woman,  as  yet,  in  his  short 
life — for  he  is  very  young,  not  quite  twenty-two,— and 
that  no  woman  has  held  his  promise  of  marriage;  he  told 
me  all  this  when  asking  my  consent  to  paying  his  ad- 
dresses to  my  daughter,  for  I  questioned  him,  particu- 
larly, on  the  subject." 

"I  did  not  say  that  he  had  engaged  himself  to  me.  I 
spoke  of  the  human  will;  and  I  will  that  he  shall  engage 
himself  to  me.  My  will  being  the  stronger  will,  can 
conquer  his." 

"You  must  be  some  brazen  hussy— some  unprincipled 
adventuress — to  use  such  language  to  me,  or  to  anyone; 
or,  even,  to  harbor  such  thoughts.  Marcus  Chesterfield 
told  me  that  he  loved  no  one  but  my  daughter.  You 
impudent,  and,  no  doubt,  vile  woman;  how  dare  you  talk 
of  willing  a  gentleman  to  engage  himself,  in  marriage, 
to  you?" 

"I  dare  to  do  any  and  all  things  that  I  wish  to  do; 
and  I  will  set  the  power  of  my  will  against  yours;  and 
there  shall  be  a  wrestling  of  the  powers  of  our  wills, 
and  mine  shall  conquer  yours;  be  sure  of  that.  Your 
daughter  is  no  more  than  a  straw  in  my  path.  Marcus 
has  no  particular  will  of  his  own.  My  conquest  over 
him  will  be  easy.  You  are  the  real  obstacle  in  my  way; 
and  you  I  will  overcome  or  rend  in  pieces.  Marcus  Ches- 
terfield, and  his  millions,  shall  be  mine;  and  no  power 
OD  earth,  or  in  heaven,  shall  thwart  me." 

"I  defy  you!"  cried  Mrs.  Morton,  with  flaming  eyes 
and  cheeks.  "You  shall  be  as  a  reed  in  my  hands,  and 
I  will  bend  and  break  you.  My  daughter  shall  marry 
Marcus  Chesterfield,  and  you  shall  not.  If  it,  as  you 
say,  is  a  question  of  the  power  of  one  human  will  over 


34  MARK  CHESTER:   OB 

that  of  another,  then  my  will  shall  conquer.  We  will 
fight  it  out  to  the  bitter  end." 

"To  the  bitter  end  it  shall  then  be,"  said  the  intruder, 
becoming  pale  as  the  dead.  "I  am  possessed  of  a  power 
that  you  know  not  of — a  power  which  you  lack — oh,  never 
fear;  I  shall  be  the  victor!"  and  the  weird  eyes  glittered 
like  those  of  a  basalisk.  "Do  not  attempt  to  thwart  me, 
I  warn  you;  for  if  you  do,  you  and  your  daughter  both 
will  wish  you  had  never  been  born.  I  came  here  tonight 
on  purpose  to  warn  you.  I  would  gain  my  ends  without 
resorting  to  this  power,  if  I  could;  but  if  I  cannot,  then 
beware!  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  use  it";  and  the  eyes 
that  gazed  into  those  of  Mrs.  Morton's  glittered  like  a 
deadly  serpent's. 

Mrs.  Morton  sprang  from  her  chair;  the  eyes  still 
glared  into  her  own,  and  the  serpentine  form  of  the  crea- 
ture approached  her,  waving  its  thin  hands  before  her 
face,  until  each  finger  upon  them  seemed  like  ten 
wreathing  snakes  ready  to  dart  their  forked  tongues  in 
her  face. 

"Sit  down!"  again  commanded  the  creature,  in  a  hiss- 
ing whisper.  "Sit  down!  I  warn  you  not  to  oppose  me, 
or  you  shall  suffer  the  consequences  of  your  own  folly! 
Sit  down,  and  hear  me  out.  Give  up  all  hopes  of  Marcus 
Chesterfield's  wedding  your  daughter,  and  all  shall  go 
well  with  you:  If  not,  I  will  encompass  the  ruin  and 
downfall  of  yourself  and  Isabel.  Do  not  call  into  activity 
a  subtle  power  which  you  cannot  hope  to  compete  with 
or  overcome.  We  shall  meet  again." 

Mrs.  Morton  sank  back  into  her  'chair,  paralyzed  in 
every  limb,  utterly  unable  to  remove  her  eyes  from  those 
of  the  basalisk;  the  creature,  in  the  meanwhile,  slowly 
retreated  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  waving  its 
slender  hands,  with  their  dreadful  fingers;  never  taking 
the  glittering,  serpentine  eyes  from  the  victim,  until  it 
gradually  vanished  from  her  sight.  The  room  was  not 
dark,  for  the  fire  still  blazed  within  the  grate,  and  a 
small  night  lamp  burned  steadily  upon  the  dressing 
table;  no  door  had  opened,  no  window  had  been  raised, 
yet  the  figure  was  gone,  and  Mrs.  Morton  found  herself 
alone. 

"0!  This  is  dreadful!"  she  exclaimed,     "What  is  the 


A   MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  35 

matter?  Have  I  been  dreaming— in  one  of  those  horrible 
nightmares?"  She  arose  from  her  chair,  shook  herself, 
bathed  her  heated  head  and  burning  cheeks  in  cold 
water.  She  put  forth  her  hand  to  ring  for  the  maid,  but 
desisted. 

"It  will  be  of  little  use,"  she  said.  "I  really  am  not  ill 
and  they  will  say  that  I  fell  asleep  in  my  chair,  through 
fatigue,  and  it  was  all  the  effect  of  a  nightmare.  I  am 
unwilling  to  tell  what  caused  my  fright.  It  will  be  the 
better  way  not  to  mention  this  dream,  or  whatever  it 
may  be,  to  anyone.  Can  it  have  been  produced  by  the 
few  remarks  which  Isabel  made  regarding  an  imaginary 
woman,  who  constantly  appeared  between  her  and  her 
lover? 

"Goodness-gracious!  It  is  two  o'clock,  already.  I 
shall  appear  a  fright  if  I  do  not  get  some  rest  and 
sleep,"  and  the  good  lady,  immediately  retired. 


36  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER  .VII. 

HIDDEN   FORCES. 

The  spectre  went  with  its  hands  clasped  over  its  throb- 
bing heart;  the  gleaming  eyes  and  pale  face  were  turned 
upward  toward  the  heavenly  vault.  A  sigh  escaped  its 
lips.  Not  one  of  regret — oh,  no;  but  one  of  intense  deter- 
mination, 

Let  our  souls  come  en-rapport  with  this  soul,  that  we 
may  understand  its  language.  Thoughts  are  things;  let 
us  follow  the  gleam  of  the  moving  figure,  and  look  at  the 
trail  of  thoughts  it  leaves  in  its  wake. 

"This  it  is  to  understand  the  secrets  of  nature.  Th?h 
it  is  to  understand  how  to  separate  the  soul  and  spirit 
from  the  more  material  body.  Here  am  I,  a  living  soul, 
out  in  this  starry  night.  I  am  not  obliged  to  walk  wear- 
ily back  to  my  body,  but  can  float  easily  and  gracefully 
along.  The  night  is  cold  but  I  am  not,  for  the  magnetic 
and  electric  currents  meet  within  me  and  warm  my  soul. 
This  it  is  to  know  I  cannot  die.  Even  though  this  earth 
were  to  vanish  forever  beneath  me,  still,  here  am  I,  and 
I  live.  Even  if  those  heavens,  with  all  their  countless 
hosts,  were  to  roll  up  as  a  scroll,  still  would  I  be  here. 
That  body,  lying  yonder  in  that  dwelling,  is  senseless 
and  still.  Some  might  say  it  slept,  for  the  breath  of  life 
is  still  within  it,  but  I  am  not.  Intense  desires  lure  me 
away  from  it.  My  soul  wills,  and  my  spirit  obeys.  If  I 
must  yet  be  confined  within  that  prison  house  of  clay,  I 
will  move  like  a  queen  upon  the  earth.  Wealth  and 
power  I  will  have,  and  nothing  shall  hinder  me.  If  the 
earth  yields  treasures  of  gold  and  diamonds,  I  will  find 
a  way  to  make  them  mine. 

"While  I  must  inhabit  that  form  of  clay,  I  will  deck  it 
in  glittering  gems.  I  will  clothe  it  in  velvets,  laces,  silks 
and  satins,  costly  beyond  compare. 

"I  have  visited,  in  this  my  astral  form,  the  mines  be- 
longing to  Marcus  Chesterfield,  and  I  have  found  the 
wealth  of  Golconda  hidden  within  them;  riches — riches 
untold.  He  does  not  even  dream  of  the  wealth  that  will 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  87 

yet  be  his,  and  but  for  this  secret  power,  which  I  pos- 
sess, I  could  not  know  of  these  things. 

"Does  that  baby  face  and  her  mother,  think  to  thwart 
me?  They  might  as  well  think  to  move  yonder  mountain 
from  its  base.  I  care  no  more  for  the  girl  than  I  do  for 
a  wisp  of  straw;  but  the  mother  requires  all  my  subtle 
force.  If  necessary,  I  must  search  nature  for  more  sub- 
tle forces  still. 

"Love  me?  Does  Marcus  love  me?  What  is  love?  I 
must  understand  it  fully  in  order  that  I  may  conquer. 
'Two  souls  and  one  idea;  two  hearts  and  but  one  throb'? 
Very  poetic,  truly;  but  more  of  poetry  than  truth.  The 
ideas  of  my  soul  are  far  beyond  those  of  Marcus  Ches- 
terfield's. My  heart  throbs  are  full,  fast  and  furious; 
his  are  slow,  and  rhythmic.  My  fluttering,  palpitating 
heart,  finds  a  resting  place  within  his  more  slowly  beat- 
ing one.  I  wish  to  fly,  but  like  the  dove  in  the  fabled 
ark,  come  back  to  rest  on  firmer  ground.  Love?  What 
is  it?  Attraction?  Hardly.  One  is  attracted  to  many 
that  one  does  not  love.  Love  is  a  myth — a  fable — a  blind 
God.  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  a  blind  God.  My 
God  shall  be  all-seeing,  all-hearing,  all-knowing;  for  I 
am,  at  this  moment,  my  own  God,  able  to  see  and  un- 
derstand all  with  whom  I  come  in  contact.  Others  may 
worship  the  blind  God,  if  they  choose,  but  I  never  will. 
I  will  blind  others  and  compel  them  to  do  my  bidding. 

"When  I  have  conquered  Marcus  Chesterfield,  and, 
thereby,  become  possessed  of  his  enormous  wealth,  I 
shall  have  the  means  of  traveling  all  over  this  vast 
globe — a  queen  in  my  own  right— and  be  sure,  my  soul, 
I  will  queen  it  over  all  that  are  worth  my  time  and  at- 
tention: Lords  and  Ladies  shall  bow  to  my  sceptre,  for 
I  have  made  myself  acquainted  with  the  great  secret 
wherewith  to  rule  all;  even  inanimate  things  run  at  my 
bidding,  and  much  of  the  unseen  world  is  under  my  feet. 
Do  I  not  compel  them  to  work  for  me,  to  help  me  on 
toward  fame  and  fortune?" 

"Be  quiet,  now,  soaring  spirit;  fold  up  thy  wings;  beat 
more  slowly,  palpitating  heart,  for  thy  prison  house 
awaits  thee.  Take  up  that  senseless  form  once  more, 
for  it  must  serve  thee  well. 


38  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Here  is  its  chamber;  here  is  its  bed;  poor  and  lowly 
at  present,  for  the  spirit  has  but  just  begun  to  soar." 

Pause  here,  my  friends.  Watch  the  gleam  as  it  shim- 
mers, for  a  moment,  against  the  wall  of  that  little  old 
house;  all  lonely  and  desolate,  far  out  on  the  sands,  but 
a  little  above  high  water  mark;  in  plain  sight  of  the 
bench  where  Mark  Chester  sat  a  few  hours  ago. 

See;  the  gleam  has  disappeared  within  the  walls  of 
that  lonely  cot.  Let  us,  also,  enter. 

There  are  but  three  rooms  within  it;  a  living  and 
sleeping  room,  together  with  a  small  kitchen.  Upon  the 
bed,  in  the  sleeping  apartment,  we  discover  a  slumber- 
ing form;  the  exact  counterpart  of  the  airy,  floating  fig- 
ure we  have  been  following.  Is  this  a  dead  form?  It 
resembles  one  very  much.  But,  no.  Although  the  pallor 
of  death  is  on  the  face,  and  the  body  is  rigid,  still  a 
faint  breath  escapes  the  livid  lips  and  we  notice  the 
heart  flutters  slightly.  Observe;  the  gleam  hovers  over 
it;  gradually  it  is  drawn  down  out  of  our  sight;  the 
breathing  becomes  stronger;  the  lips  take  on  a  little 
color;  the  heart  ceases  to  flutter  and  beats  with  regular- 
ity; the  rigid  limbs  become  supple  once  more;  the  girl 
moves;  opens  her  eyes  and  looks  about  her;  and,  as  we 
can  learn  nothing  more,  just  now,  we  will  retire  and 
leave  her  to  her  own  thoughts. 

We  go  forth  into  the  bright,  clear  moonlight.  It  is 
now  two  o'clock.  The  New  Year  is  two  hours  old;  1899 
is  already  two  hours  old — a  sweet,  pure  cherub,  as  yet. 

Here,  on  Redondo  beach,  how  clear  the  atmosphere; 
how  bright  and  clean  the  face  of  the  moon;  how  the 
stars  glitter.  The  peaceful  Pacific  sends  its  waves,  with 
a  soft  boom,  against  the  shore.  Apparently  every  soul 
in  the  small  city  is  asleep.  We  know  that  all  those  of 
whom  we  have  spoken  are  asleep,  even  the  last  one,  for 
the  girl  soon  slept  again;  this  time  the  spirit  resting 
with  the  body. 

Three  hours  more,  when  the  cherub  is  five  hours  old, 
the  activity  of  life  will  commence  once  more.  Would 
that  a'l  the  thoughts  and  actions  of  human  beings  could 
be  as  pure,  calm,  and  peaceful  as  this  innocent  hour; 
but  such  we  know  will  not  be  the  case. 

As  we  are  spirits,  already  freed  from  the  flesh,  feeling 


A   MILL  AND   A   MILLION.  39 

not  the  cold,  neither  needing  sleep,  let  us  pause  quietly 
here  and  summon  other  souls  to  keep  us  company;  also, 
to  impart  to  us  strength  and  ability  to  accomplish  that 
which  we  desire  to  do — and  that  which  we  desire  to  do 
is  to  help  poor,  weak,  erring  humanity.  To  ward  off  evil 
from  the  innocent  and  well  disposed;  instill  pure  and 
good  thoughts  into  the  minds  of  those  who  wish  to  wrong 
others;  in  fact,  to  overcome  evil  with  good. 

There  is  no  higher  mission  given  to  spirits,  angels,  or 
men,  than  to  bring  order  out  of  chaos,  good  out  of  evil, 
wisdom  out  of  ignorance,  love  out  of  hate,  heaven  out  of 
hell. 

Even  if  there  were  such  a  hell  as  some  think  and 
teach,  could  the  angels  in  heaven  find  any  better  employ- 
ment than  saving  souls  from  such  a  pit  of  darkness? 

Let  us  introduce  the  reader  to  some  of  the  spiritual 
beings  whom  we  have  called  to  assist  us  in  our  good 
work.  First  of  all,  at  our  earnest  desire,  floats  toward 
us  a  lovely  woman;  beautiful,  pure  and  sweet  as  the  an- 
gels are.  This  is  Molly,  the  guardian  spirit  of  Nathan 
Kester.  And  here  comes  a  sweet  and  gentle  lady,  the 
safeguard  and  mother  of  Mark  Chester.  And  this  rather 
sorrowful,  regretful  soul,  or  spirit,  is  the  father  of  Mar- 
cus Chesterfield.  Now  let  your  enraptured  eyes  gaze,  for 
a  moment,  on  this  lovely,  angelic  maiden;  so  pure,  so 
sweet,  so  innocent,  and  withal  so  wise.  She  passed  to 
the  spirit  world  before  the  taint  of  sin  or  folly  ever 
touched  her;  but  the  lessons  which  earth  and  material 
life  can  teach  must  be  learned  by  this  pure  being,  in  or- 
der that  wisdom  may  sit  enthroned  on  that  dazzling 
brow;  therefore  is  she  appointed,  by  natural  law,  to  be 
the  guardian  spirit  and  soul  companion  of  sweet  Isabel 
Morton.  And  here  stands  a  stately  woman  who  was 
once,  when  on  earth,  an  ambitious  and  wicked  Queen. 
Her  grand  and  noble  nature  is  not  yet  purified  from  the 
heavy  dross  of  earth.  She  still  desires  to  be  a  queen. 
She  still  desires  to  animate  a  human  form,  and  as  she 
cannot  reincarnate  herself  once  more,  she  loves  to  attach 
herself  to  some  fine-looking,  ambitious  woman,  that  she 
may  again  and  again  enjoy  the  pomp  and  sensual  pleas- 
ures of  earth.  How  many  times  she  will  do  this,  before 
her  soul  emerges  into  the  glowing  light  of  goodness,  holi- 


40  MAKK  CHESTER:    OR 

ness  and  perfect  purity,  none  can  tell.  She  stands  before 
us  now  more  of  earth  than  of  heaven,  and  yet  a  spirit. 
Her  appearance  is  exceedingly  brilliant  and  dazzling, 
but  we  feel,  as  we  look  at  her,  that  she  is  not  at  rest — 
not  at  peace — that  she  is  not  wholly  pure  or  good;  still, 
whatever  the  soul  desires  it  attracts  to  itself. 

There  she  stands  before  us,  blazing  in  jewels  and 
precious  stones,  clothed  in  rose-colored  satin  and  golden 
ornaments  of  various  kinds.  Her  eyes  are  large,  bril- 
liant, and  dark;  her  hair  long,  thick,  and  black  as  the 
wing  of  a  raven;  her  form  full  and  exceedingly  volup- 
tuous. She  likes  to  be  with  us  occasionally,  but  her  eyes 
speak  more  of  disdain  than  love. 

This  soul  has  attached  herself,  for  the  present,  to  Mrs. 
Morton;  for  she  loves  to  conquer  untoward  conditions 
and  work  out  her  own  will.  She  may,  thus,  at  last,  work 
out  her  own  salvation.  Let  us  hope  so,  at  least. 


A    MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  41 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE   MORNING   BREAKS. 

The  New  Year's  morn  is  breaking.  The  moon  has  set. 
A  cold,  chilly  fog  has  obscured  the  twinkling  stars.  Not 
one  is  now  visible.  All  is  dull,  cold  and  gray.  The  night 
is  dead.  The  day  still  lingers.  The  cold,  gray,  dead 
night  is  wrapped  in  a  dim,  winding  sheet  of  fog;  a  fit- 
ting symbol  of  the  present  age  in  which  the  whole  world 
is  struggling,  trying  to  pierce  the  fog  which  is  the  wind- 
ing sheet  of  the  night  of  ignorance,  that  still  hides  the 
glory  of  the  coming  day.  But,  see!  A  gleam  of  golden 
light  shoots  upward  over  yonder  mountain.  The  dawn 
of  day  is  not  far  behind  and  the  warm  and  glorious  sun 
will  soon  follow. 

"Hello!"  Mr.  Kester  starts  up  from  his  snug  bunk, 
under  the  seat  in  the  stern  of  his  boat,  rubs  his  sleepy 
eyes  and  yawns. 

"I  hev  got  ter  git  out  o'  this,"  he  mutters.  "Hed  no 
idee  'twas  mornin'.  Them  thar  fellers  hes  cum  arter  the 
yaller-tails,  sure  as  yer  live. 

"Hullo,  thar!  Be  with  yer  in  a  minit,"  and  his  long 
legs  are  soon  seen  dangling  over  the  side  of  the  Molly, 
then  he  jumps  to  the  sands  and  confronts  an  old,  knock- 
kneed,  white  horse,  standing  shakily,  with  blinking,  half- 
shut,  sleepy  eyes.  The  horse  is  attached  to  a  covered 
cart  as  shaky  as  himself,  and  the  driver  sits  on  the  seat, 
wrapped  in  an  old  coat,  smoking  a  black,  stumpy  pipe; 
his  bleared  eyes  are  also  nearly  shut,  but  there  is  more 
speculation  in  them,  when  he  occasionally  lifts  the  lids, 
than  in  those  of  the  horse. 

"Hello,  Kister!  How's  Molly  an'  the  yaller-tails  this 
mornin'?" 

"An'  howdy,  yerself.  Molly's  spankin',  yew  bet;  an' 
ef  I  ketched  one  yaller-tail  yisterday  I  ketched  two  hun- 
derd — croakers,  pouts,  an'  a  lot  o'  halibut  thrown  in," 
and  Mr.  Kester  sauntered  proudly  toward  the  pile  of 
large,  long  fish,  taking  one  in  each  hand  and  holding 
them  up  for  inspection. 


42  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"How  many'll  yer  take,  this  mornin',  pard?  Mayn't 
hev  another  sich  a  haul  in  a  long  time,  yer  know." 

"Wall,  now,  let  ine  see,"  and  the  speculative  eyes 
opened  somewhat.  "This  yer  day  is  New  Year.  It's 
ninty  nine,  Kister,  as  sure's  fate,  an'  another  year'll 
make  it  nineteen  hundred.  Well,  seem'  as  how  it's  a 
holiday,  I'll  take  the  whole  o'  them  yaller-tails,  an'  ye 
can  throw  in  a  lot  o'  them  croakers,  pouts,  an'  halibut. 
Throw  'urn  all  in— ye  can  afford  to,  fur  I'll  buy  the 
yaller-tails,  an'  pay  ye  a  good  price  fur  'urn,  too." 

"Do  yer  see  any  thing  green,  Howsler?  Fer  ef  yer 
dew,  yer  mus'  be  lookin'  at  them  thar  pepper  trees,  up 
on  ther  bank,  yender,  an'  not  at  Nat  Kister.  Yer  kin 
hev  jist  as  many  fish  as  yer  pay  fur,  anr  no  more,  nor  no 
less.  Do  yer  see  them  thar  little  shanties  over  thar? 
Wall,  ef  I  hev  got  anythin'  ter  give  away,  I'll  give  it  ter 
them  thar  poor,  hungry  people,  instid  of  a  bloat  like  you 
be.  Come,  now;  jump  down  an'  lend  a  hand,  will  yer?" 

"No;  arn  yer  money  yerself,  Kister.  Pile  in  them 
yalier-tails,  an'  mind  there's  not  one  short." 

Mr.  Kester  immediately  commenced  piling,  and  pres- 
ently the  "yaller-tails"  were  in  the  cart,  and  two  shin- 
ing, ten  dollar  gold  pieces  were  transferred  from  the 
pocket  of  Mr.  Howsler  to  the  palm  of  Mr.  Kester's  hand. 

"There  you  are!" 

"Drive  on  yer  cart!    Hope  yer'll  sell  urn  all,  Howsler." 

"They'r  all  spoken  for  a'ready.  Hope  ye'll  spend,  a 
happy  New  Year.  Git  up  there,  old  Jock!  There's  the 
sun,  a'ready,  ye  lazy  beast!"  and  the  old  horse  labored 
wheezily,  the  wrheels  grated  in  the  sand,  the  spokes  rat- 
tled like  castanets  in  unskilful  hands,  and  soon  the  cart, 
horse  and  driver  were  o.n  higher  ground,  wending  their 
way  onward.  Mr.  Kester  clinked  the  money  together  in 
his  pocket: 

"Thet  thar  wus  a  good  day's  work,"  he  said,  turning 
toward  Molly.  "Yer  a  stanch  ole  boat,  Molly,  an'  ye 
arned  yer  share  o'  the  money.  Gess  we'll  stay  ashore 
ter  day,  bein'  as  'tis  New  Year  Now,  yer  look  thar, 
Molly.  Thar's  a  good  pile  o'  fish  left  now,  my  black - 
eyed'  beauty.  Tell  me  what'd  yer  think  I'd  better  do 
with  it?  What's  that  yer  say,  Molly?  Guv  it  ter  the 
poor,  an'  hungry,  an'  them  as  needs  it?  Is  thet  the  kind 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  48 

o'  a  gal  yer  be,  ter  adwise  me  ter  guv  away  my  hard 
arned  fish?  Did  yer  know,  Molly,  thet  that  thar  fish 
would  bring  another  V  jest  by  takin'  it  up  to  thet  thar 
hotel?  Another  five  would  make  my  airnings  yisterday 
count  up  ter  fifteen  dollar',  an'  yer  jist  adwise  me  ter  guv 
um  away.  Perhaps  yer  right,  Molly.  Them  poor,  little 
chilern,  over  thar,  is  hungry,  jist  as  yer  say,  an'  them 
fathers  can't  ketch  no  fish,  'cause  they  hes  no  boats- 
nary  a  boat,  Molly,  hes  nary  one  o'  them.  Yer  a  fortin 
in  yerself,  my  beauty.  Them  mothers,  an'  hungry 
chilern  '11  thank  ye,  no  doubt.  Let  me  see,  Molly,  how 
things  stand  with  us?  Ten  dollar'  fur  you,  Molly,  an' 
ten  fur  me,  an'  five  fur  them  as  is  hungry.  Yer  right, 
Molly,  darlin',  an'  yer  always  right,  an'  thet  settles  it. 

"Thet  thar  sun's  up  later'n  I  am.  She's  jist  throwin' 
off  ther  last  sheet  o'  fog  frum  her  bright  face.  Her 
mornin'  kisses  '11  soon  be  too  ardint  fur  them  thar 
croakers,  an'  '11  do  the  pouts  no  good,  nether;  let  me  see, 
now,  how  many  '11  Molly  an'  I  want?  One,  two, 
three;  thet  '11  do  fur  me — an'  Molly,  poor  girl,  kin  help 
ter  ketch  um  better'n  eat  um.  What's  thet  yer  say, 
Molly?  Be  all  ther  more  fur  them  as  is  hungry?  All 
right,  my  beauty!  Whar's  thet  thar  baskit,  Molly? 
Yer  jist  hidin'  it  away  here  under  ther  bow.  Suppose 
yer  tho't  yer'd  like  ter  keep  it  clean  an'  dry.  Thet's  jist 
like  yer,  my  good  gal." 

And  with  these  words  Mr.  Kester  proceeded  to  fill  the 
basket  with  the  remaining  pouts,  croakers,  and  halibut, 
wrapping  three  goodly  sized  fish  in  a  wet  towel,  and  lay- 
ing them  carefully  under  the  small  seat  at  the  bow  of  the 
boat,  whence  he  had  taken  the  basket.  He  then  donned 
a  pair  of  pants,  the  legs  of  which  were  of  a  respectable 
length,  a  clean  flannel  shirt,  and  a  long,  coarse,  warm 
coat,  together  with  a  respectable  hat;  then,  taking  the 
basket  of  fish  on  his  arm,  he  wended  his  way  toward  a 
collection  of  huts,  tents,  and  shanties,  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  down  the  coast,  where  the  poverty  stricken,  the 
halt  and  the  blind  resided. 

This  place  contained  about  one  hundred  souls;  men, 
women  and  children,  in  all  the  various  stages  of  miser- 
able existence;  ragged,  dirty,  and  sore-eyed—no  doubt 


44  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

caused  by  the  blinding  rays  of  the  hot  sun  on  the  shin- 
ing, white  sands  of  the  beach. 

Extreme  poverty  makes  many  shifts  for  food  and 
shelter.  Some  of  these  shanties  were  built  out  of  old 
hogsheads  and  barrel  staves,  such  as  had  fallen  to  pieces 
and  could  be  bought  for  a  song.  Others  were  of  old 
boards,  cast  aside  from  the  wharves  as  worthless;  but  do 
not  suppose  for  one  moment,  my  kind  sir,  or  madam,  that 
the  aforesaid  lumber  was  given  to  these  suffering  human 
beings.  Oh,  no;  they  must  pay  for  it,  no  matter  how 
worthless  it  might  be — and  the  shanties  thus  built  from 
it  were  considered  almost  palatial  by  those  who  could  not 
afford,  to  buy  even  as  good.  Then  there  were  small 
filthy  looking,  old  tents,  battered  and  worn,  patched  and 
repatched,  and  other  little  shanties  hardly  larger  than 
dog-kennels.  Stretching,  at  intervals,  along  the  beach, 
were  seats  of  rough,  black  boards,  so  worn  and  shaky 
they  were  hardly  able  to  sustain  the  weight  of  one  who 
would  rest  thereon.  While  Mr.  Kester  is  still  walking 
toward  these  habitations,  we  will  take  a  view  of  this 
glorious  California  landscape. 

The  sun  has  just  risen  over  yonder  hills  in  glorious 
splendor,  such  splendor  as  only  a  Southern  California  at- 
mosphere can  give,  for  the  atmosphere  is  as  clear  as  it 
is  possible  for  atmosphere  to  be;  the  hills  are  tinged 
with  the  brightest  of  purple  and  gold,  the  valleys,  as  yet, 
lying  a  little  in  shadow.  The  western  horizon  is  also 
burning  in  silver,  orange,  purple  and  gold;  not  a  cloud 
to  be  seen  throughout  the  vast  dome  of  the  opaline  sky. 
The  gentle  waves  of  the  Pacific,  glinting  in  the  rays  of 
the  rapidly  rising  sun,  undulating  on,  and  on,  and  ever 
on,  until,  as  it  were,  they  are  met  and  kissed  by  Eternity. 

Scarcely  a  sail  can  be  discerned  on  this  boundless 
ocean. 

"O!"  one  exclaims  involuntarily.  "What  vast  possi- 
bilities are  here!"  Now  look  once  more  toward  the 
northeast  and  behold  the  immense  groves  of  orange  and 
lemon  trees.  This  is  the  time  of  year  when  the  oranges 
are  ripe,  and  they  are  hanging  thickly  among  the  shining, 
dark  green  leaves,  like  golden  balls. 

Although  it  is  New  Year's  day,  the  birds  are  singing  as 
blithely  to  the  rising  sun  as  though  it  were  spring  time 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  45 

in  a  colder  clime.  The  lawns  around  the  better  class  of 
houses  are  as  green  as  possible,  and  as  smooth  as  velvet 
carpets;  roses  are  in  full  bloom;  all  kinds  of  beautiful 
flowers  and  vines  are  trailing  over  verandas,  fences,  and 
outhouses.  There  are  a  number  of  green  terraces  at  the 
back  of  the  grand  hotel  where  Mark  Chester  is  sleeping 
at  this  moment;  and  immense  beds  of  the  most  gorgeous 
flowers  are  in  front  of  it,  as  well  as  about  it  every- 
where. 

"Paradise!"  do  you  say? 

Surely,  paradise  can  be  no  more  beautiful  or  gorgeous. 

But  the  guests  at  the  hotel  have  not  yet  risen,  and  the 
employees  are  busy  preparing  the  bountiful  breakfast. 
Smoke  is  just  beginning  to  rise  from  Mrs.  Morton's  pri- 
vate hotel,  that  is,  we  would  say  from  the  chimney  of 
that  exclusive  lodging  and  boarding  house,  just  far 
enough  distant  from  the  grand  hotel  to  nestle  beneath 
its  patronizing  wings,  for  when  one  would  like  to  be  very, 
very  exclusive,  and  very,  very  retiring,  one  found  Mrs. 
Morton's  private  hotel  very  much  to  one's  taste,  espe- 
cially if  one  did  not  care  to  be  in  full  dress  for  most  of 
the  time,  which  is  often  quite  irksome,  particularly  to 
those  ladies  who  have  passed  the  flirtation  period. 

The  smoke  is  rising  lazily  from  the  chimney  of  this 
most  exclusive  abode;  but  the  mother  and  daughter  are 
both  still  wrapped  in  slumber. 


46  MARK   CHESTER :     OK 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JANE   ERIE    EXPRESSES   HER   OPINIONS. 

Mr.  Nathaniel  Kester  has  now  arrived  at  his  destina- 
tion, and  a  crowd  of  men,  women  and  children  surround 
him. 

It  is  evident  that  he  is  well  known  here.  He  places 
the  basket  on  a  bench  and  takes  his  seat  beside  it. 

"Happy  New  Year!  Happy  New  Year!"  comes  from 
a  score  of  voices. 

"Nice  basket  of  fish,  that,"  says  one  with  longing  eyes. 
"Oh,  aint  them  beauties?"  says  another,  hungrily.  "Old 
Kister  beats  urn  all  at  fishing,"  says  another  covetously. 
"But  he's  generous  wi'  um,"  quavers  an  old  woman 
whose  gaunt  form  and  hollow  cheeks  speak  of  famine. 

"Here,  mother,  take  this  ere  biggest  one,"  says 
Nathaniel,  holding  it  forth. 

"Oh,  thank  ye!  Thank  ye!  May  the  holy  virgin  an' 
all  the  saints  bless  ye,  Mr.  Kister!  But  I  am  that  hun- 
gry I  can  hardly  wait  for  it  to  be  cooked." 

A  half  dozen  children  huddled  about  the  old  woman 
whom  they  called  "granny."  "Take  this,"  she  said  to 
the  eldest  of  them,  "and  tell  yer  marm  to  cook  it  quick, 
for  we  are  all  nearly  starved  to  death." 

The  children  ran  on  with  the  fish  to  one  of  the  huts, 
and  the  grandame  hobbled  after. 

A  fair  young  mother  passed  slowly  by,  with  her  infant 
in  her  arms. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Kester!"  she  sobbed,  "Jack  has  a  broken  leg 
and  we  have  nothing  to  eat." 

Another  fish  was  handed  forth;  and  so,  one  after  an- 
other, they  passed  by,  until  but  one  fish  remained  within 
the  basket. 

"I  must  save  this  fur  her  as  lives  up  yender,"  said  Mr. 
Kester,  bobbing  his  head  in  the  direction  of  the  lone 
bouse  where  we  have  been  before,  and  amid  blessings 
and  thanks,  he  arose  and  turned  his  face  in  the  direction 
of  the  cottage.  Having  arrived  there,  he  discreetly 
knocked.  The  door  was  opened  by  a  woman  of  middle 


A    MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  47 

age   who  certainly   had   seen  better  days.        Mr.   Kester 
took  off  his  hat  to  her,  bowing  clumsily. 

"I  hope  ter  find  yer  well  this  mornin',  marm." 

"I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Kester." 

"How  is  yer  darter,  marm?" 

"She  is  also  well,  for  ought  I  know.  She  must  be 
sleeping  still,  I  think,  although  she  is  usually  a  very  early 
riser." 

"It  is  New  Year's  day,  marni,  an'  I  tho't  as  how  yer 
darter  an'  yerself  might  like  a  little  present.  It's  nothin' 
but  a  fish,  marm;  but  fishes  air  purty  good  when  yer 
hungry.  Not  thet  I  mean  thet  you  might  be  hungry, 
marm.  In  course  I  didn't  mean  that;  but  Molly  thar,  yer 
see,  she  wanted  ter  make  ye  a  New  Year's  present,  an' 
Molly  thinks  a  lot  o'  fishes  an'  fishin',  yer  know,  marm, 
an'  sometimes  she  kin  spare  a  few  jest  as  well  as  not." 

The  lady  smiled,  and  taking  the  large,  fine  halibut,  she 
thanked  Mr.  Kester  again  and  again. 

"We  are  nearly  penniless  now,"  she  said  in  a  faint 
voice,  "but  it  has  not  always  been  thus.  I  should  not 
care  to  have  Jannie  know  that  I  accepted  alms;  still,  it 
is  for  her  sake  that  I  do  so." 

"Oh,  no  alms,  no  alms  at  all,  marm,  jest  a  present  on 
New  Year's  morn,"  and  Mr.  Kester  sauntered  back  to 
Molly. 

Presently  he  had  a  little  fire  kindled,  his  fish  broiled, 
his  coffee  made,  himself  seated  eating  his  breakfast  with 
a  relish. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Mrs.  Erie  knocked  at  the  door  of  her  daughter's  room: 
"Jannie,  dear,  it  is  time  to  get  up." 

"Yes,  mother." 

"Mother  wishes  you  a  happy  New  Year  through  the 
key  hole." 

"I  wish  I  could  think  it  would  be,"  murmured  the 
daughter,  opening  her  door.  "But  what  is  the  use, 
mother,  of  wishing  you  a  happy  New  Year,  when  I 
know  that  you  are  not  happy — that  you  cannot  be  happy 
under  our  present  distressing  circumstances.  Happy, 
with  poverty  and  starvation  staring  us  in  the  face?  J 
am  not  happy,  mother,  but  exceedingly  miserable," 


48  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

"Well,  dress  as  quickly  as  you  can,  dear.  Mother  has 
something  nice  for  your  breakfast." 

"Something  nice!  It  is  useless  to  tell  me  that!  Where 
would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  get  anything  nice?  We 
Lad  nothing  last  evening  for  supper  but  a  dry  crust  and 
a  cup  of  cold  water.  On  New  Year's  eve,  too.  Just 
think  of  that!"  and  Jane  got  herself  into  her  clothes 
with  a  frown. 

Nathaniel  Kester  had  laid  the  fine,  large  halibut  down 
upon  the  table,  and,  all  unobserved  by  Mrs.  Erie,  he  had 
smuggled  a  packet  of  coffee  behind  it. 

"Dear,  good  old  soul!"  exclaimed  that  lady  on  discov- 
ering it.  "What  a  nice  New  Year's  breakfast  we  shall 
have  to  be  sure.  I  am  truly  thankful  that  heaven  has 
not  forgotten  us." 

She  had  spoken  aloud  in  her  surprise  on  finding  the 
coffee.  Jane,  just  emerging  from  her  door,  heard  her 
mother's  remark. 

"Old  Kester  has  been  here,"  said  she,  scornfully.  "Oh, 
mother,  mother!  We  have  fallen  low,  very  low  indeed, 
when  we  are  forced  to  accept  alms  from  an  ignorant  old 
fisherman.  I  would  much  rather  starve." 

Mrs.  Erie  was  busily  cutting  slices  from  the  fish  and 
laying  them  within  the  hot  frying-pan  over  the  small 
stove;  and  the  odor  of  fragrant  coffee  filled  the  room. 

"Jannie,  dear,  lay  the  table  and  we  will  soon  have  a 
good  breakfast.  Daughter,  sweet,  mother  is  very  hungry. 
Come  and  kiss  me,  Jane.  Aren't  you  glad,  love,  to  have 
a  good  breakfast  this  New  Year's  morn?" 

"Breakfast!  Breakfast!"  sneered  Jane.  "One  would 
think  you  never  thought  of  anything  else  but  eating.  No, 
I  am  not  glad  of  a  miserable  breakfast  of  fish,  bestowed 
upon  us  as  alms  by  a  dirty  old  fisherman.  I  am  thankful 
that  I  was  not  in  the  room  when  he  came.  O  mother! 
you  have  not  the  spirit  of  a  mouse.  If  you  had,  we 
should  not  be  in  such  poverty." 

And  she  scornfully  switched  the  cloth  upon  the  table. 
The  gentle  mother  sighed  as  she  turned  the  fish. 

"I  think  you  are  right,  Jannie,  dear,"  she  said.  "I 
never  had  much  spirit  and  what  little  I  may  once  have 
had,  has  been  considerably  broken." 

"Broken,  indeed!"  snapped  Jane.    "Why  have  you  al- 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  49 

lowed  your  spirit  to  be  broken?  Mother,  the  human  will 
is  everything.  Your  spirit  need  not  be  broken  if  you  will 
it  otherwise,"  and  Jane  placed  the  plates  upon  the  table 
very  decisively. 

"Well,  perhaps  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Erie,  tears  of  regret 
dimming  the  mild  blues  eyes.  "I  am  well  aware,  dearie, 
that  I  am  greatly  lacking  in  force  of  character;  but  you, 
Jannie,  are  like  your  father.  He  had  purpose  and  will 
enough  for  two." 

"Where  is  my  father?"  asked  Jane,  rattling  the  cups 
and  saucers  together  irritably. 

"Heaven  alone  can  tell.    I  know  not." 

"Why  did  you  not  find  out?"  asked  Jane,  cutting  the 
remaining  half  of  the  stale  loaf,  otherwise  called  a  crust. 

"As  he  saw  fit  to  desert  me,  I  did  not  think  it  best  to 
trouble  myself  about  him." 

"More  likely  it  was  because  you  were  so  weak  spirited. 
If  I  had  been  in  your  place,  I  would  have  followed  him 
to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  I  would  have  compelled  him  to 
do  as  he  ought — or  as  I  thought  he  ought — it  would  be 
one  and  the  same  thing." 

"Your  father  was  not  one  to  be  compelled  in  any  way, 
or  by  any  one,  no  matter  who;  much  less  by  his  wife, 
whom  he  thought  must  obey  him  in  all  things." 

"No  man  living  shall  ever  compel  my  obedience,"  said 
Jane,  taking  the  steaming  coffee  from  the  stove.  "But 
my  husband  shall  obey  me  in  all  things,  even  to  the 
smallest  detail." 

"But,  Jannie,  you  may  never  be  so  fortunate  as  to  get 
a  husband,"  and  Mrs.  Erie  took  the  richly  browned  fish 
from  the  pan,  laying  the  slices  daintily  upon  the  platter 
which  she  carefully  placed  upon  the  table. 

"Never  get  a  husband,  mother?  You  ought  to  know 
me  better.  Can  you  possibly  think  me  so  devoid  of  will, 
that  I  shall  never  get  a  husband?  I  will  not  only  get  a 
husband,  but  I  will  get  one  as  rich  as  was  the  king  of 
Lydia,  Croesus,  and  instead  of  being  the  wretched, 
poverty  stricken  creature  that  y-our  weak  will  has  made 
me,  I  will  move  through  the  world  a  very  queen.  I  will 
grasp  millions  with  this  small  hand.  Men  and  women 
shall  bow  down  to  me,  and  I  will  place  this  little  foot 
upon  their  necks  and  crush  the  life  out  of  them  if  they 


50  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

do  not  obey  my  will,"  and  as  she  grasped  her  mother's 
wrist  with  that  small  hand,  it  seemed  like  a  vise  of 
steel.  As  she  stamped  with  that  little,  slender  foot,  the 
room  trembled  and  the  dishes  rattled. 

"O  Jannie!"  gasped  the  mother,  "you  frighten  me." 

"Frighten  you?  It  don't  take  much  to  frighten  such 
weak  creatures  as  yourself.  Fear  and  weakness  are  no 
part  of  my  nature,  mother,  and  if  they  were,  I  would 
wring  the  neck  of  fear  and  chase  weakness  back  to  her 
lair.  Fear  and  weakness  are  abominable  to  me." 

The  mother's  pale,  delicate  features  grew  paler  still  as 
she  listened  to  her  daughter. 

"But,  Jannie,"  objected  Mrs.  Erie,  "in  order  to  get  a 
rich  husband,  it  would  be  necessary  for  us  to  move  in 
good  society — to  keep  up  the  appearance  of  being  com- 
paratively wealthy,  even  if  we  were  not,  and  for  you  to 
dress  with  becoming  elegance.  We  are  not  able  to  do 
any  of  these  things.  This  house  is  but  a  mean  cottage 
of  three  rooms — scarcely  more  than  a  shed.  At  the  ead 
of  this  month  we  may  not  have  even  this  shelter,  for  I 
have  no  more  money  to  pay  the  rent;  the  best  dress  you 
have  is  of  the  cheapest  material  and  not  at  all  becoming." 

"Say  no  more,  mother,  or  I  shall  rave  at  you — weak 
willed  creature  that  you  are!  Why  have  you  not  pro- 
vided your  child  with  better  things?  Why  did  you  bring 
me  into  this  world  to  suffer  such  torture  aud  thus  to 
fling  my  poverty  in  my  face?  Am  I  to  blame  that  you 
forced  me  into  this  world?  Am  I  to  blame  that  I  am 
what  I  am?  But  now  that  I  am  here  against  my  wish — 
not  being  consulted  at  all  in  the  matter— I  will  show  you, 
and  the  rest  of  the  world,  what  one  woman  can  do — what 
one  woman  will  do  against  all  odds." 

"But  Jannie,  love,  there  are  very  few  rich  young  men 
here  at  Redondo,  and  I  think  not  any.  We  cannot  leave 
this  small  town,  for  we  have  no  means  wherewith  to  pay 
our  fare  to  any  other  place,  and  nothing  to  live  upon 
even  if  we  were  to  leave  here.  Surely,  daughter,  it  is 
better  for  us  to  remain  here  than  it  would  be  to  go  to  a 
large  city." 

"Mother,  you  are  right.  I  said  that  I  would  conquer 
against  all  odds.  I  will  stay  just  here — right  where  we 
are,  mother.  I  do  not  ask  you  to  go  hither  or  thither.  If 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  51 

I  cannot  conquer  and  bring  to  pass  my  will  here  in  this 
small  town  of  Redondo,  how  could  I  hope  to  conquer  and 
bring  about  my  desires  in  a  larger  place?  It  is  not  the 
place,  mother,  but  the  person — the  human  will — the  soul 
— the  spirit  of  the  person." 

"But,  my  child,  if  there  is  no  exceedingly  rich  man 
who  is  marriageable  here,  how  can  you  marry  him?" 

"If  there  were  not  such  a  person  here,  I  would  sum- 
mon one  to  come  here — will  one  to  come  here — compel 
one,  even  against  his  own  will,  if  need  be."  Mrs.  Erie 
stared  at  her  daughter  as  though  she  feared  she  was  be- 
coming insane. 

"O,  you  need  not  look  at  me  like  that.  I  am  perfectly 
saae,  and  in  my  right  mind,  know  just  what  I  am  talking 
about.  Mother,  I  am  possessed  of  a  power  that  you 
know  nothing  of.  You,  with  your  weak  will,  could  not 
hope  to  understand  me.  My  spirit  transcends  my  body. 
My  will,  or  soul  power,  compels  my  spirit  to  obey  its  be- 
hests; consequently,  I  can  will  my  spirit  to  leave  my 
body  and  go  wherever  I  wish  it  to  go.  The  I,  Myself, 
the  Ego,  I  suppose  learned  men  would  call  it,  rises  su- 
perior to  my  spirit  or  my  body,  compelling  them  both  to 
obedience,  and  whenever  I  cannot  make  use  of  my 
earthly  body  to  advantage,  I  leave  it  and  make  use  of 
my  spiritual  form.  This  enhances  my  power  ten  fold." 

"O  gracious!  Jannie,  what  are  you  talking  of?" 

"Did  you  not  hear  me,  mama?    I  mean  what  I  say." 

"Jane!  Jane,  my  daughter!  I  hope  you  have  not 
made  a  compact  with  Satan?" 

"Not  at  all,  mother.  I  am  merely  beginning  to  under- 
stand myself  and  the  power  belonging  to  me,  and  how  to 
make  use  of  it  to  my  own  advantage.  I  know  I  am  very 
young  yet,  else  I  should  have  accomplished  wonders  be- 
fore this." 

"You  are  scarcely  eighteen,  Jannie,  little  more  than  a 
child." 

"Child  I  am  no  longer.  Child  I  do  not  wish  to  be.  You 
may  be  my  child,  mother,  if  it  will  please  you,  and  you 
shall  see  how  I  will  make  you  obey  me,  something  which 
you  could  never  make  me  do." 

"I  have  always  tried  to  rule  you  through  love,  Jannie. 


52  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

You  have  never  been  a  bad  child;  a  little  wilful  and 
headstrong,  perhaps,  but  not  bad  in  any  sense." 

"I  will  not  rule  by  love,"  cried  Jane,  "but  by  the 
power  of  my  will." 

"I  hope,  dear,  that  you  will  always  try  to  do  right.  I 
have  endeavored  from  your  earliest  childhood  to  instil 
right  principles  within  your  mind." 

"Right  or  wrong,  mother,  I  will  conquer.  Right  or 
wrong,  I  will  do  what  I  please.  I  will  not  live  in  pov- 
erty. I  will  not  go  hungry.  I  will  not  dress  in  rags  or 
mean  apparel.  The  world  is  before  me  and  I  will  con- 
quer it.  It  shall  yield  to  me  that  which  I  desire.  Noth- 
ing shall  stand  in  my  way.  Nothing  shall  hinder  me. 
You  sew  for  the  grand  ladies  at  the  hotel,  when  you  can 
get  the  work  to  do,  and  I  have,  thus  far,  helped  you  as 
much  as  I  could,  besides  carrying  the  work  to  and  fro; 
by  so  doing,  I  have  come  in  close  contact  with  these 
ladies,  mother.  They  are  no  better  than  I  am,  many  of 
them  are  not  even  as  good.  They  snub  me— they  dare  to 
look  down  on  me.  To  them,  I  am  nothing  but  the 
daughter  of  their  seamstress.  How  many  insults  I  have 
borne,  you  can  never  know;  but  I  will  spurn  them  yet — 
wring  out  their  heart's  blood" — 

"O  stop,  Jannie!     Where  will  this  lead  you?" 

"It  shall  lead  me  to  put  the  world  under  my  feet. 

"Mother,  there  is  a  young  man  staying  at  the  hotel— he 
is  rich.  I  have  heard  that  he  will  be  worth  many  millions 
of  dollars.  He  is  very  wealthy,  even  now,  his  father 
having  left  him  a  million  or  more,  besides  that  exceed- 
ingly rich  mine  you  have  heard  people  talk  of.  All  the 
ladies  at  the  hotel,  who  have  marriageable  daughters, 
are  trying  to  entrap  him.  They  don't  ask  whether  it  is 
right  or  wrong.  Why  should  I  be  expected  to?  Now, 
mother,  I  will  marry  that  young  man." 

"But  you  may  not  be  his  choice.  He  may  not  fall  in 
love  with  you." 

"I  will  be  his  choice.  I  will  compel  his  choice.  Love 
I  know  little  about  and  care  nothing  for;  but,  mark  it 
well,  mother,  I  will  be  his  choice." 

"But  suppose  he  were  really  to  love  another?" 

"He  loves  himself  better  than  he  ever  can  any  other; 
and  one  who  can  minister  to  his  self  love  will,  most  as- 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  53 

suredly,  be  his  choice;  and  I  shall  see  to  it  that  he  con- 
tinues to  love  himself  better  than  anyone  else." 

"O  Jannie — Jannie!  This  seems  all  wrong  and  wicked 
to  me." 

"Then  all  the  world  is  wicked,"  persisted  Jane.  "I 
have  studied  people  far  more  than  you  think,  mother, 
and  I  find  those  who  care  only  for  themselves,  and  their 
own  advantages,  are  invariably  the  ones  who  prosper; 
they  are  always  rich,  while  we  are  in  poverty.  Those 
who  have  weak  wills,  invariably  go  to  the  wall.  Most  of 
those  wealthy  ladies  at  the  hotel,  are  very  arrogant  and 
self-willed,  and  they  override  those  who  are  not  as 
wealthy  as  themselves." 

"But,  Jannie,  dear;  wealth  is  not  everything." 

"Is  not  it?  Well,  then,  my  observation  is  at  fault.  Do 
you  think  there  is  a  person  in  this  town  who  would  not 
bow  down  before  Marcus  Chesterfield  in  abject 
humility?" 

"Child,  I  would  not,  for  one;  and  I  am  sure  that  Mr. 
Nathaniel  Kester  would  not." 

"Am  I  never  to  hear  the  last  of  that  old  fisherman? 
That  nonentity  in  the  world?  A  man,  or  thing,  rather, 
who  cannot  speak  a  word  of  the  English  language 
properly?  Who  looks  more  like  a  wild  beast,  or  a  bird 
of  prey,  than  a  human  being?  And  you — oh,  mother— the 
very  weakest  of  women— so  weak,  indeed,  that  you  are 
on  the  verge  of  starvation!" 

"But  there  may  be  other  very  good  people  indeed,  those 
who  are  not  in  poverty,  who  would  not  bow  down  to  this 
young  millionaire." 

"If  there  are,  I  have  not  seen  them,  and  do  not  believe 
they  exist." 

Mrs.  Erie  sighed  deeply.  Surely,  she  thought,  her 
teaching  had  come  to  naught  with  this  girl,  the  being  in 
all  the  world  who  lay  nearest  her  heart. 

"Mother,  they  gave  a  grand  ball  at  the  hotel  last  night 
—a  New  Year's  Eve  ball.  Did  they  invite  me— Jane 
Erie?  Did  they  invite  you— Mrs.  Erie— to  chaperon  your 
daughter  Jane?" 

"Well,  certainly  not." 

"Why  did  they  not?" 

"We  do  not  move  in  what  is  called  good  society." 


54  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Good  society?    Are  we  considered  bad,  then?" 

"No — no!     Of  course  not." 

"Why  don't  you  say  \vhat  you  mean,  mother?  Why 
don't  you  say,  because  we  are  in  poverty." 

Another  sigh  from  Mrs.  Erie. 

"Good?  There  was  scarcely  a  lady  at  the  ball  really 
as  good  as  we  are.  Wealth,  mother!  That  is  the  real 
thing,  and  your  daughter  Jane  will  yet  be  the  queen  of 
the  grandest  ball  that  was  ever  given— and  be  sure,  those 
who  have  slighted  me  now  shall  bite  the  dust." 

"Was  the  young  man  you  speak  of  there?" 

"Was  Marcus  Chesterfield  there?  I  should  say  he  was 
— and  you  ought  to  have  seen  the  sycophants  hover 
around  him  and  smile,  and  smile,  and  smile,  and  fawn 
upon  him.  Oh,  it  was  sickening!" 

"How  can  you  possibly  know  about  it,  Jannie?  You 
were  not  there." 

"Was  I  not?    Indeed,  but  I  was  there." 

"Was  there?  What  do  you  mean?  You  certainly 
went  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock,  and  I  looked  in  upon  you  a 
number  of  times  as  you  slept,  thinking  you  could  not  be 
well,  as  you  were  so  unusually  pale." 

"O,  my  body  was  not  there — not  this  heavy,  earthly 
one,  at  least,  but  my  spirit  and  soul  were  there  and  1 
knew  and  saw  everything  that  was  going  on;  besides,  1 
knew  what  all  those  grand  ladies  and  gentlemen  were 
thinking  about.  Pah!  It  makes  me  sick!  Your 
daughter  Jane,  madam,  is  an  angel  compared  to  some 
of  them." 

Mrs.  Erie  could  do  nothing  but  stare  in  astonishment 
at  her  strange  child. 

"Mother,  there  was  one  poor  little  fool  there,  I  sup- 
pose you  would  call  good.  She  ought  to  have  been  your 
daughter  instead  of  me,  while  I  should  have  been  the 
daughter  of  that  insolent,  haughty  woman,  her  mother." 

"Of  whom  do  you  speak,  Jannie?" 

"I  speak  of  Isabel  Morton  and  her  mother." 

"Isabel  Morton?  Yes:  Isabel  is  one  of  the  loveliest  and 
sweetest  girls  I  ever  knew— the  dear  little  angel! 
How  kind  she  has  often  been  to  me." 

"Have  you  discovered  wings  on  the  dear  angel,  yet, 
mama?  If  you  were  like  Mrs.  Morton,  we  should  not  be 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  55 

in  miserable  poverty,  and  I  could  win  Marcus  Chester- 
field without  putting  myself  to  so  much,  trouble.  Mrs. 
Morton  has  a  greater  amount  of  will  power  than  the 
other  ladies  at  the  hotel,  consequently,  Marcus  Chester- 
field is  her  slave,  following  the  mother  and  daughter 
about  like  a  shadow." 

"He  may  be  in  love  with  Isabel,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Erie.  "I  doubt  if  any  young  man  could  resist  such 
beauty  and  sweetness." 

"Oh,  he  is  a  willing  captive,  I  admit;  but  he  Is  a  cap- 
tive, mother,  held  in  bonds  that  he  will  soon  break." 

"Is  he  already  engaged  to  Isabel?" 

"Not  yet;  but  he  intends  to  be  before  the  day  is  over." 

"Then,  Jannie,  how  can  you  possibly  hope  to  win  him? 
Besides,  it  would  be  very  cruel  and  unjust  to  Isabel." 

"No,  mother,  it  would  not  be  cruel  or  unjust  to  Isabel. 
Isabel  cares  nothing  for  him." 

"Then  she  will  refuse  him." 

"I  fear  not.  Perhaps  she  may,  but  her  weak  will 
counts  for  nothing.  Weak  wills  never  do.  Mrs.  Morton 
has  a  powerful  will,  which  will  carry  everything  before 
it." 

"Well,  if  that  be  so,  how  can  you  hope  to  win?" 

"Mother,  it  shall  be  a  war  of  wills,  and  I  will  con- 
quer." 

"But,  Jannie,  every  advantage  is  on  her  side.  I  am 
sure  you  will  find  it  impossible." 

"Nothing  is  impossible— nothing  shall  be  impossible  to 
me!  I  will  conquer  that  woman,  or  kill  her." 

Mrs.  Erie  paled  afrightedly.  "Jane!  Jane!  She  ex- 
postulated. You  are  no  better  than  a  murderess!"  Then, 
covering  her  face,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"Tears — tears!  The  weakest  of  all  impotence! 
Mother,  before  I  would  shed  a  tear  of  weakness,  I  would 
strike  myself  dead  at  your  feet — dead?  No,  I  would  not 
be  dead,  but  alive — doubly  alive.  Still,  these  eyes  of 
mine  shall  never  shed  a  tear  of  weakness.  But  I  am  not 
ready  to  throw  my  body  away  .vet.  It  shall  serve  me  as 
long  as  I  choose  to  make  use  of  it.  No:  I  have  consider- 
able affection  for  it.  Mother,  is  it  beautiful?" 

The  mother  raised  her  tear-stained  face  and  looked  at 
her  child  lovingly— longingly.  "To  my  eyes,"  she  an- 


56  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

swered,  "you  are  the  most  beautiful  girl  that  ever  lived. 
You  are  not  like  Isabel,  to  be  sure.  Your  type  of  beauty 
is  entirely  different  from  hers.  You  are  tall,  slight, 
graceful,  and  carry  yourself  like  a  queen;  your  hair  an  1 
eyes  are  black  as  night;  your  complexion  white  and 
clear— perhaps  a  little  pale,  but  if  you  were  rich  ami 
happy,  you  would  have  more  color.  But,  daughter,  there 
is  something  peculiar  and  strange  about  your  eyes." 

"Yes;  my  eyes  are  the  windows  of  my  soul.  I  look  out 
through  my  eyes,  mother.  My  soul  flashes  and  burns 
within  me  like  forked  lightning,  and  my  will  responds 
like  the  powerful  crash  of  the)  thunder's  roar.  Nothing 
can  or  shall  withstand  me." 

And  Jane  arose  to  her  feet  looking  like  a  panther  at 
bay,  ready  to  spring  upon  her  victims  at  a  moment  when 
they  thought  her  crouching  in  fear. 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  67 


CHAPTER  X. 

A   PARTNERSHIP  IS   CEMENTED. 

Mark  Chester  sprang  from  his  bed.  It  was  eight 
o'clock.  The  breakfast  gong  was  sounding  loudly 
through  the  hotel.  For  a  moment  the  young  man  did  not 
know  whether  he  was  at  Hong  Kong  or  Calcutta,  for  he 
had  slept  the  sleep  of  youth  and  robust  health. 

After  a  cold  bath  he  dressed  himself  carefully  and  de- 
scended to  the  breakfast  room.  His  eyes  were  bright, 
his  face  somewhat  bronzed  by  travel. 

The  waiter,  who  gave  him  a  seat,  eyed  him  with  aston- 
ishment, but  said  nothing.  Every  eye  at  the  table  rested 
upon  him  surprisedly. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  everybody?"  thought  Mark: 
"But  perhaps  the  matter  is  with  me.  Ah,  I  remember! 
The  matter  must  be  that  other  young  man  who  looks 
like  me,  or,  it  may  be  that  I  look  like  him.  Well,  I  am 
sure  it  is  not  my  fault— hope  he  will  not  take  it  amiss. 
Some  more  mush,  if  you  please,  waiter.  I  am  blessed 
with  an  excellent  appetite." 

"Yes,  sir!  All  right,  sir!"  and  the  waiter  hastened  to 
fill  the  order. 

Mark  finished  his  breakfast,  planked  his  dollar  and  a 
half  upon  the  counter  in  the  clerk's  office  and  leisurely 
descended  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  not  pausing  on  the 
veranda  to  smoke  a  cigar  or  cigarette,  for  he  did  not 
smoke  and  had  not  a  cent  to  buy  a  cigar  with  even  if  he 
had  been  addicted  to  the  vile  habit. 

He  looked  about  him. 

"This  world  is  very  beautiful,"  he  murmured;  "but, 
just  now,  I  am  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land.  I  really  do 
not  know  what  course  to  take.  I  don't  care  to  tramp  to 
Los  Angeles,  so  I  will  make  up  my  mind  to  remain  here 
for  awhile.  I  think  I  will  go  down  and  pay  my  respects 
to  Mr.  Kester — say  good  morning  and  thank  him,  at 
least.  Good  old  man!  How  kind  he  was  to  me  an  utter 
stranger.  He  has  a  noble  heart  beneath  a  rough  ex- 


58  MARK    CHESTER:     OR 

terior.  Untutored,  he  may  be,  but  a  real  gentleman, 
nevertheless." 

He  walked  on  briskly  in  the  crisp,  morning  air.  The 
beach  was  not  now  deserted  as  it  had  been  the  previous 
night.  Many  people  were  already  out;  some  walking, 
some  fishing  from  the  wharf;  while  the  fishermen  were 
getting  their  boats  ready  for  the  day's  work. 

The  slight  figure  of  a  girl  brushed  past  the  young  man 
— a  girl  with  great,  flashing,  scornful  eyes,  haughty  head, 
and  the  step  of  a  queen.  Her  eyes  rested  upon  his  for  a 
moment  with  a  startled  glance,  changing  suddenly  to  a 
look  of  blank  dismay. 

Mark  lifted  his  hat  politely.  The  girl  paused,  extended 
her  haud,  saying: 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Chesterfield.  I  wish  you  a  happy 
New  Year." 

"I  wish  you  many;  however,  my  name  is  not  Chester- 
field but  Chester— Mark  Chester,  at  your  service." 

"Miss  Erie — Miss  Jane  Erie,"  said  that  young  lady. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir.  I  mistook  you  for  a  young  gen- 
tleman with  whom  I  am  acquainted;  still,  now  that  I 
observe  you  more  closely,  there  is  a  slight  difference  in 
your  appearance  more  than  in  your  features  or  form. 
The  young  gentleman  of  whom  I  speak  is  staying  at  the 
hotel  yonder;  and,  as  you  were  coming  directly  from 
there,  my  mistake  was  but  natural." 

"The  mistake  has  certainly  been  a  pleasant  one  to  me. 
I  hope  we  may  meet  again." 

Miss  Erie  smiled  dazzlingly.  Mark  bowed  and  passed 
on. 

"Ah!  There  are  Molly  and  Kester."  He  hurried  for- 
ward. 

Mr.  Kester  looked  up  from  his  coffee  as  Mark  ap- 
proached. 

"Hullo,  young  man,  an'  happy  New  Year!  Wall,  yer 
found  it  all  right  up  thar  at  thet  hotel,  didn't  yer?" 

"All  right,  Mr.  Kester.  Many  thanks  to  you.  Having 
your  breakfast  all  by  yourself,  I  see.  Are  you  going  out 
today?"  pointing  toward  the  bright  waters. 

"No.  Think  Molly  an'  me  '11  take  a  rest  this  New  Year 
day  an'  enj'y  ourselves.  As  yer  kin  see,  I  hev  got  on  my 
betterrnost  rig,  in  honor  o'  ther  day." 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  59 

Mark  looked  about  him.  "Where  are  your  fish,  Mr. 
Kester?" 

"Sold  um  all  out.  Yer  yer  hear  thet?"  and  he  chinked 
the  golden  coins  in  his  pocket. 

"Twenty  good  dollars!  Best  day's  work  I  hev  dun  fur 
mor'n  a  year.  Think  I  kin  afford  ter  lay  by  fur  a  day. 
Yer  look  purty  cheery  this  mornin',  young  man,  an'  as 
neat  as  a  pin.  Hev  yer  cum  ter  any  conclusion  as  ter 
what  yer  air  a  goin'  ter  dew?" 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Kester.  I  thought  I  should  like  to  talk 
with  you  a  little  first.  I  know  nothing  of  the  country,  as 
yet.  Can  work  be  had  in  plenty  about  here?" 

"Der  yer  see  thet  thar  collect  o'  shanties  over  thar?" 

"Yes,  to  be  sure.  Do  those  huts  and  tents  belong  to 
the  fishermen?" 

"Nary  a  one.  Thar's  twenty-five  or  thirty  good,  able 
bodied  men  thar,  as  can't  git  a  stich  o'  work  hereabouts; 
an'  some  o'  them  an'  the'r  fam'lies  air  about  starved." 

Mark's  countenance  fell. 

"An'  'taint  no  better'n  Los  Angeles,  ne'ther.  Ef  yer 
go  thar,  young  man,  an'  yer  hev  no  friends  nor  money, 
an'  yer  ware  ter  happen  ter  ask  a  man  ter  loan  yer— or 
gin  yer  a  little— ter  keep  yer  frum  starvin',  they'd  put 
yer  in  the  chain  gang  sure,  an'  yer'd  heve  ter  carry  thet 
thar  heavy  ball  through  thick  an'  thin,  chained  ter  yer 
ankle.  They'd  make  yer  work  then  fur  sartin.  It's  not 
quite  so  bad  here,  yer  see;  an',  as  yer  look  so  respect- 
able like,  they  '11  never  think  yer  haint  got  a  cent,  nor 
home,  nor  nothin'." 

"Do  the  people  here  consider  it  criminal  not  to  have  a 
home,  or  money?" 

"Don't  know  'bout  thet,  but  as  long  as  they  treat  yer 
like  a  criminal,  it  don't  inspire  a  man  ter  be  'onest,  does 
it?" 

"Well,  no.  I  should  say  not.  But,  Mr.  Kester,  I  will 
not  beg  though  I  starve." 

"Thet's  ther  right  sperrit,  young  man." 

"In  all  seriousness,  Mr.  Kester,  do  you  think  there  is 
any  chance  for  me  about  here?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  ther  is." 

"Nor  in  the  city  of  Los  Angeles?" 

"No,    I    don't    think    ther    is.    Ef   yer    hed    plenty    o* 


60  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

money,  some  o'  them  shysters  up  thar  would  be  sure  ter 
git  it  away  frum  yer.  Most  o'  them  thar  folks  up  thar 
live  by  the'r  wits;  an'  it's  as  hard  to  find  an  'onest  man 
as  ter  find  needles  in  a  hay-mow  or  a  fish  as  hes  swal- 
lerd  a  dimon'." 

"Well,  how  about  the  mines?" 

"The  best  o'  them  is  all  gobbled  up  by  rich  sindicates, 
or  millionaires.  Ef  yer  jest  want  ter  go  an'  dig  in  them 
thar  mines  fur  little  or  nothin',  an'  find  yerself— thet  is 
ter  say — find  yer  own  grub  stake — why,  they'll  let  yer,  I 
gess;  but  yer '11  have  ter  hev  a  good  bit  o'  money  ter  git 
thar,  an'  buy  yer  grub  too." 

Mark  looked  downcast. 

"No  man  oughten  ter  cum  ter  Californy  unless  he's  got 
plenty  o'  chink,  an'  plenty  o'  cheek  as  well." 

"Do  you  earn  much  at  fishing,  Mr.  Kester?" 

"Wall,  sometimes  a  good  bit;  an'  then  agin,  luck  fs 
aginst  me.  Howsumever,  I  parservere,  an'  I  hev  laid  by 
quite  a  goodly  sum,  takiu'  it  year  in  an'  year  out.  But 
sum  o'  them  fishermen  here  don't  arn  the'r  salt.  They 
say,  'ole  Kister's  lucky,'  but  I  tell  yer,  yung  man,  luck 
don't  hev  much  ter  do  with  it.  I  usually  takes  Molly, 
airly  in  ther  mornin',  an'  we  start  out  'fore  sunrise,  an' 
we  don't  cary  eny  black  bottle  with  us.  Molly  says  ter 
me,  'Nathaniel,  let  liker  alone.  We  don't  need  it, 
Nathan.'  An'  I  think  Molly's  right.  Don't  tetch  it.  An' 
then  ef  I  don't  ketch  fish  in  ther  mornin',  I  stay  out  'till 
I.  does  ketch  urn;  an'  sumtimes  it's  midnight  afore  Molly 
an*  I  gits  in.  Then  I  hes  um  ter  clean,  ready  fur  ther 
cart  in  ther  mornin',  which  is  very  airly  in  comin'.  But, 
then,  I  hes  my  pleasures  an'  my  pains,  yung  man,  an' 
so  does  most  other  people." 

"Would  you  like  to  take  me  as  partner?  I  will  go  with 
you  early  and  late.  I  will  help  you  in  every  way  that  I 
can." 

"Wall,  now,  yung  man;  perhaps  yer  couldn't  do  eny 
better.  I  hev  thought  es  how  I  shud  like  a  pardner,  ef 
he  wus  of  ther  right  sort.  Most  o'  them  fellers  as  wants 
ter  go  out  with  me  must  take  ther  black  bottle  with  um, 
an'  they's  good  fur  nuthin'  shortly  after  they  hes  emptied 
it.  They  jist  lay  down  in  ther  bottom  o'  ther  boat,  while 
ole  Kister  does  ther  work.  An'  then,  when  they  gits 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  6t 

ashore,  they  wants  half  ther  chink  fur  bein'  pardner.  I 
gits  tired  o'  thet  party  soon.  They  never  takes  Molly 
inter  consideration;  an'  she  cost  me  a  good  bit  o'  money." 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Kester,  I  will  go  with  you,  if  you  will 
take  me.  It  shall  be  man  for  man  between  us;  and  you 
may  give  me  one-third  of  the  profits,  if  you  please. 
That  will  leave  one-third  for  Molly,  and  one-third  for 
yourself." 

"How  about  them  thar  cloes?  Yer  carnt  war  them,  no 
how." 

"Have  not  you  a  few  old  duds  you  can  loan  me  for  a 
week  or  so?" 

"Wall,  yis,  I  hev;  an*  now  I  think  on't,  yer  a  lad  after 
my  own  heart.  I  jist  needs  yer,  an'  thet's  a  fact.  Purty 
hard  fur  me  ter  git  Molly  ashore,  all  by  myself.  She 
kicks  like  a  young  colt,  yer  see;  but  when  one  takes  her 
by  the  head,  an'  another  pushes  her  astern,  then  she's 
milder  an'  not  so  full  o'  her  cranks.  Give  us  yer  fist 
on  't,  yung  feller!  Mark's  yer  name,  ain't  it?  An'  we'll 
ratify  this  ere  bargin  right  here  an'  now." 

Mark  gave  his  hand  to  the  old  man  with  a  beaming 
face,  and  the  partnership  was  cemented. 


62  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER    XI. 

THE   WITCH   WHO    SHOULD   BE    BURNED. 

It  was  very  late,  on  New  Year's  day,  when  Mrs.  Mor- 
ton arose  from  troubled  sleep.  Oh,  what  had  occurred 
to  her  during  the  night?  Had  she  really  seen  an  appa- 
rition, or  had  she  but  fallen  asleep  in  her  chair  and 
dreamed  the  strangest  of  dreams?  It  really  must  have 
been  a  horrible  nightmare!  Strange,  how  much  the 
aerial  being  resembled  Jane  Erie,  her  seamstress's 
daughter.  Oh,  yes;  of  course,  it  was  nothing  but  a 
dream;  still,  how  strange,  how  real!  Jane  Erie,  a  rival 
to  Isabel?  How  preposterous  the  thought!  But  dreams 
always  went  by  contraries.  Why,  Mrs.  Erie  was  in 
the  depths  of  poverty,  and  Jane  had  scarcely  a  second 
dress  to  her  back.  Mother  and  daughter  both,  looked 
half  starved.  The  idea  of  that  uncouth,  poverty 
stricken  girl  raising  her  eyes  to  a  millionaire!  "How 
could  my  mind  take  on  such  grotesque  thoughts,  even 
in  sleep?  No:  Mr.  Chesterfield  said  he  would  like  to 
have  a  private  interview  with  me,  today;  so  I  invited 
him  to  dine  with  us  and  spend  the  evening  here.  I 
know,  very  well,  that  he  intends  to  ask  me  for  the 
hand  of  Isabel,  and,  probably,  he  will  propose  to  her 
during  the  evening. 

"Jane  Erie,  indeed!  Why,  I  would  kill  the  jade  first! 
But  I  need  not  trouble  myself:  it  is  altogether  too  ridic- 
ulous to  think  about. 

"Ah,  Isabel!     Is  that  you,  daughter?" 

"Yes.  Am  I  late,  mama,  dear?  Ten  o'clock,  already? 
Is  it  possible  ?" 

"Never  mind,  Isabel.  Ring  the  bell.  We  will  take 
breakfast  here  in  my  room." 

Isabel  did  as  her  mother  desired.  The  air  was  chill, 
so  a  little  breakfast  table  was  drawn  up  before  the 
glowing  grate,  and  mother  and  daughter  were  soon 
seated,  in  comfortable  morning  gowns,  sipping  coffee 
and  eating  toast  and  eggs. 

"I  have  invited  Mr.   Chesterfield  to  dine  with  us,  Isa- 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  63 

bel.  He  also  requested  a  private  interview  with  me, 
and  there  can  be  but  one  meaning  to  that.  He  will  ask 
me  for  the  hand  of  my  only  daughter— my  Isabel— and 
I  shall  give  my  unqualified  consent  to  your  union  with 
him.  Isabel,  this  is  a  proud  and  happy  day  for  me. 
He  will  certainly  propose  to  you  this  evening.  I  want 
to  know  beforehand,  whether  you  intend  to  accept  him, 
or  not." 

Isabel  sat.  palt  and  trembling.  Her  mother's  will 
had  always  been  law  to  her.  How  could  she  now  resist 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life?  At  last  she  raised  her 
sweet  blue  eyes,  filled  with  tears,  to  her  mother's  face. 

"Mama,"  she  said,  "I  do  not  love  Mr.  Chesterfield. 
If  I  were  to  marry  him,  I  should  certainly  be  most  un- 
happy. I  cannot  marry  without  love.  I  wish  to  obey 
you  in  all  things;  but,  mama,  I  love  no  one  as  yet.  Let 
me  enjoy  my  happy  girlhood  a  few  years  longer.  So 
few  people  are  happy  after  marriage,  I  dread  to  think 
about  it.  Let  me  lie  happy  a  little  longer,  mama,  dear, 
and  then  if  I  must  marry,  I  will  try  to  love  some  one  if 
I  can." 

"And  let  the  chance  of  a  lifetime  slip  through  your 
fingers,  thereby.  Do  you  know,  Isabel,  that  not  one  girl 
in  ten  thousand,  of  your  station  in  life,  would  have  the 
opportunity  of  marrying  a  millionaire?" 

"Then  I  am  one  of  ten  thousand  who  is  most  unhappy. 
Ten  thousand  other  girls  may  marry  for  love,  while  I 
ain  expected  to  marry  for  money.  Mama,  when  i 
marry,  I  wish  to  wed  a  man,  not  money." 

"But  in  this  case,  Isabel,  you  wed  not  only  a  man  but 
his  money.  Marcus  Chesterfield  is  without  reproach, 
fine  looking;  and  what  more  can  one  have?  Now,  Isa- 
bel, I  lay  my  command  upon  you— that  you  do  not  re- 
fuse him  tonight.  I  can  enforce  my  command,  if  neces- 
sary. You  have  been  so  pliant,  heretofore,  that  you  and 
I  have  sustained  very  happy  relations  toward  each 
other;  but,  Isabel,  I  may  prove  harder  than  adamant,  if 
you  rebel  against  my  authority." 

Tears  were  now  rolling  down  Isabel's  fair  cheeks. 

"Obey  me,  my  daughter,  and  we  shall  both  be  rich 
and  exceedingly  happy." 

"Jane  Erie   is  here,  madam,  and  would   like   to  speak 


64  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

with  you,"  announced  Mrs.  Morton's  maid,  putting 
her  head  in  at  the  door. 

"What  does  she  want?" 

"She  has  brought  home  the  sewing  madam  gave 
her  to  do." 

"Well,  you  can  show  her  in  here:  I  do  not  care  to 
go  down  just  at  present." 

Jane  Erie  entered  the  room. 

"Your  work  is  finished,  Mrs.  Morton,"  said  Jane, 
placing  the  bundle  upon  a  table,  not  far  away,  at  the 
same  time  casting  a  burning,  flashing  glance  upon  that 
lady's  face. 

"Well,  Jane,  you  and  your  mother  have  been  long 
enough  about  it,  I  hope.  Bring  it  here  to  me.  I  wish 
to  see  if  it  be  well  done.  Isabel,  you  had  better  go  to 
your  own  room.  You  are  looking  quite  ill.  Late  hours 
do  not  agree  with  you,  I  think.  No  doubt  you  danced 
more  than  you  ought  to  have  done." 

Isabel  obeyed,  but  not  before  the  quick  eyes  of  Jane 
had  noted  the  tear-stained  face  and  drooping  figure  of 
that  young  lady. 

Jane  Erie  gave  her  a  scornful  look  as  she  departed, 
then  taking  up  the  bundle,  she  laid  it  in  the  lap  of  the 
woman  she  meant  to  conquer. 

"Why  could  you  not  have  finished  this  work  sooner?" 
she  asked,  a  hard  look  overspreading  her  face. 

"Because,  madam,  we  did  it  as  soon  as  we  could." 

"Stuff  and  nonsense!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Morton.  You 
are  an  idle  girl,  walking  the  beach  a  good  part  of  the 
day,  so  I  hear,  when  you  should  be  at  home  helping 
your  mother.  You  have  kept  the  work  over  the  time 
specified,  so  I  shall  not  pay  you  full  price  for  it.  It 
has  put  me  to  great  inconvenience." 

The  girl  raised  herself  haughtily  to  her  full  height, 
flashing  defiance  from  her  great  black  eyes,  and  if  the 
glance  could  have  laid  Mrs.  Morton  dead  at  her  feet, 
she  would  have  been  well  pleased. 

"Madam,"  she  said,  in  low,  concentrated  tones,  her 
eyes  resting  in  full  upon  those  of  the  lady's,  burning 
into  her  very  soul,  "you  will  pay  us  the  price  agreed 
upon." 

Mrs.     Morton     quailed     visibly.       Her     soul     actually 


A   MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  65 

t 

shrank  and  shivered  within  itself.  The  power  of  that 
glance  shook  her  like  a  leaf  shaken  in  the  wind.  She 
could  not  move  hand  or  foot.  The  strange  girl's  eyes 
were  riveted  upon  hers,  and  held  them  as  a  powerful 
magnet  holds  steel.  She  stretched  forth  her  hand. 

"Give  me  the  money!  Give  it  to  me,  or  I  will 
hurl  your  soul  into  an  abyss  of  vipers,  where  it  rightly 
belongs!  Give  it  to  me,  I  say!" 

Mrs.  Morton  grew  faint  and  dizzy.  It  seemed,  for  a 
moment,  as  though  the  room  were  filled  with  hideous, 
grinning  demons,  ready  to  slay  her  at  the  bidding  of 
those  great,  flashing  orbs  of  darkness.  She  found  her- 
self without  the  power  of  will,  or,  at  least,  her  will  was 
so  completely  overshadowed  by  a  more  powerful  one,  that, 
instinctively,  her  hand  went  to  l)er  pocket  and  drew 
forth  her  purse.  The  girl  allowed  her  own  will  to  sub- 
side, while  a  look  of  expectation  crossed  her  features. 
That  one  instant  was  fatal  to  her  purpose.  The  lady 
roused  herself  somewhat. 

"I  will  not  pay  for  the  work  until  I  have  examined 
it,"  she  said,  which  she  at  once  proceeded  to  do. 

Jane  Erie  said  nothing,  as  such  examination  was  cus- 
tomary. 

"This  work  is  not  done  to  my  taste,"  she  said,  tartly. 
'•Here,  take  it  back  to  your  mother,  and  tell  her  to  see 
that  it  is  done  properly." 

"The  work  is  done  as  well  as  human  hands  can  do 
it,"  replied  Jane.  "You  are  a  falsifier!  Pay  me  the 
price  of  the  work!  Pay  me  instantly,  or  I  will  set  the 
demons  of  the  air  upon  you— you  vile  intriguer!" 

And  again  those  eyes  were  fixed  immovably  upon 
those  of  the  lady's— again  that  dreadful,  dreadful,  dizzy, 
sickening  sensation — and  Mrs.  Morton  could  have  sworn 
that  another  being  stood  by  Jane's  side,  much  larger 
and  more  powerful  than  Jane — a  woman  wearing  a 
crown  of  gold  and  sparkling  jewels— a  woman  bedecked 
with  jewels  and  precious  stones,  who  waved  her  hands 
toward  her  attendant  imps,  and  Mrs.  Morton  thought 
they  were  about  to  spring  upon  her  and  rend  her  in 
pieces. 

This  time  Jane  Erie's  glance  never  wavered. 

"Pay  me  immediately!" 


66  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

And  the  money  was  laid  in  her  outstretched  palm  by 
the  trembling,  frightened  woman. 

"Begone!  Begone  this  moment!"  commanded  Mrs. 
Morton  in  loud  tones,  "and  never  let  me  see  your  face 
again." 

"I  will  go  when  it  pleases  me,"  said  Jane,  "and  you 
shall  see  my  face  many,  many  times  again." 

"I  will  not  see  your  face!  I  will  not  look  upon  you! 
No  servant  of  mine  shall  ever  allow  you  to  pass  these 
doors  again." 

"I  will  pass  them,  though  they  were  guarded  by  an 
armed  regiment!  You  shall  see  me  at  the  very  time 
when  you  think  yourself  most  secure  from  my  glance." 

Jane  coolly  put  the  money  in  her  purse. 

"This  will  keep  my  mother  and  myself,  a  few  days, 
at  least;  and  much  may  take  place  during  that  time. 
Good  morning,  madam.  It  pleases  me  to  go  now,  but 
be  careful  what  you  do.  Your  thoughts  are  not  un- 
known to  me.  Thoughts  are  things,  madam,  and  are 
visible  to  those  who  would  see  them — to  those  who  know 
how  to  use  the  inner  sight." 

And  Jane  Erie  passed  from  the  room  with  a  springing 
step  and  haughty  bearing.  Mrs.  Morton  drew  a  sigh  of 
relief. 

"That  girl  is  a  veritable  witch!  I  always  have  be- 
lieved in  witchcraft.  How  anyone  can  read,  and  believe 
the  Bible,  without  believing  in  witchcraft,  passes  my 
comprehension.  That  girl  is  a  witch!  She  has  sold 
her  soul  to  Satan!  She  really  ought  to  be  burned,  and 
I  should  like  to  assist  at  the  burning.  I  can  readily 
understand,  now,  why  they  burned  the  witches  at  old 
Salem.  She  threatened  me,  too;  and  talked  just  as  all 
witches  do.  I  wish  she  were  riding  a  broomstick  across 
the  Pacific,  never  to  return.  India  is  the  place  for  such 
a  creature  as  that  or  the  interior  of  Africa.  She  ought 
to  be  chained  and  sent  to  Siberia  or  the  North  Pole.  I 
ought  to  have  called  the  servants  and  had  her  ejected 
from  the  house.  Why  did  I  foolishly  pay  her?  Why 
did  I  not  compel  her  to  do  the  work  over  again  ?  No 
one  will  ever  get  the  better  of  me  again,  if  I  can  help 
it.  I  am  glad  that  Isabel  was  not  here,  in  the  room, 
to  notice  my  weakness;  and  she  need  know  nothing  of 


A   MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  67 

this.  Well,  I  must  go  down,  now,  and  give  directions 
about  the  dinner;  and  no  expense  must  be  spared  in 
getting  it  up.  I  would  like  Mr.  Chesterfield  to  know 
that  his  future  mother-in-law  understands  how  to  man- 
age an  establishment,  and  could  easily  manage  that  of 
a  millionaire.  Isabel  must  wear  her  most  becoming 
dress,  and  I  shall  wear  my  garnet  satin,  and  my  dia- 
monds. I  should  not  wish  Mr.  Chesterfield  to  think  that 
Isabel  and  myself  would  not  grace  his  home." 

Whereupon  Mrs.  Morton  descended  the  stairs  to  carry 
out  her  intentions. 


68  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   BETROTHAL. 

"What  horrible  noise  is  that?"  and  Mr.  Marcus 
Chesterfield  started  up  in  his  bed. 

"Is  there  an  earthquake,  or  a  terrible  thunder  storm? 
Is  Southern  California  sinking  beneath  the  waves  of  the 
Pacific?  as  that  fool  in  New  York  prophesied,  or,  what 
in  the1  name  of  all  reverberating  sounds  can  it  be?" 

Mr.  Chesterfield  rubbed  his  eyes,  made  a  violent  effort 
to  collect  his  senses,  scattered  by  the  amount  of  cham- 
pagne he  had  drunk  some  hours  previous. 

"By  my  soul!  I  believe  it  is  nothing  more  than  the 
gong  sounding  for  breakfast." 

He  glanced  at  the  small  clock  on  the  mantle.  "One 
o'clock,  as  I  live!  No,  it's  not  breakfast;  it  must  be 
lunch."  He  rang  the  bell.  His  valet  appeared. 

"Have  my  breakfast  served  here  in  my  rooms,  at  once." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  when  you  have  given  the  order,  dress  me  as 
quickly  as  possible." 

He  approached  the  mirror  and  earnestly  scrutinized  his 
reflection— deathly  pale,  bloodshot  eyes  with  livid,  puffy 
circles  beneath,  dank  hair,  haggard  expression,  trembling 
hands,  together  with  a  feeling  of  peevish  discontent  and 
unhappy  restlessness.  He  was  soon  dressed  and  his 
breakfast  stood  before  him. 

"Mix  a  glass  of  brandy  and  soda  for  me.  My  head 
feels  as  if  it  were  filled  with  wheels,  all  moving  in  op- 
posite directions,  tearing  my  brain  asunder,"  and  he 
leaned  his  aching  head  on  his  hand. 

"Wish  I  might  get  along  without  champagne.  Don't 
believe  it's  good  for  my  head  or  my  nerves.  Dancing  in 
an  over-heated  ball-room  half  the  night  does  not  have  a 
refreshing  effect  on  one  the  next  morning;  besides, 
ghosts  are  not  exactly  to  my  taste." 

"Ghosts!"  exclaimed  the  valet  aghast,  raising  his 
hands  as  if  to  ward  off  some  dreadful  thing.  "Ghosts, 
did  you  say,  sir?" 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  69 

"That's  the  word  I  used,  Lewis,  ghosts;  or,  at  the  very 
least,  ghost.  I  do  not  remember  of  seeing  but  one." 

"But,  sir — really,  sir — you  must  have  fallen  asleep." 

"Asleep  or  awake,  I  was  drinking  champagne  when  I 
first  saw  the  ghost,  and  drank  two  glasses  afterward.  A 
man  does  not  drink  champagne  while  asleep,  does  he?" 

"No — that  is,  not  usually,  sir;  but,  possibly,  you 
dreamed  you  were  drinking  it;  but  you  must  have  drank 
it  all  beforehand,  sir." 

"Have  it  as  you  will,  Lewis;  before,  or  after,  is  of  little 
consequence;  but  I  know  I  was  broad  awake  and  drink- 
ing champagne,  when  the  thing  made  its  appearance." 

"Oh,  sir!  Oh!  And  what  did  it  look  like,  if  it  please 
you,  sir?" 

"Well,  now,  that  is  the  strangest  part  of  all.  It 
looked  precisely,  in  form  and  feature,  like  that  girl  who 
came  here  the  other  day  with  rny  shirts.  You  remember, 
I  ordered  some  shirts  made.  Mrs.  Erie,  the  girl's  mother, 
was  to  make  them.  If  that  girl,  Jane,  they  call  her,  was 
not  living,  I  should  certainly  think  what  I  saw  was  her 
ghost.  She  cannot  be  dead,  Lewis,  else  we  should  have 
known  of  it  in  this  small  sequestered  town." 

"No,  sir;  she  is  not  dead,  for  I  saw  her  but  a  half  hour 
since,  and  she  was  walking  briskly  enough."  Then  the 
valet  laughed.  "That  goes  to  prove  what  I  said,  sir;  you 
were  dreaming,"  and  Lewis  felt  greatly  relieved  at  the 
thought;  for  ghosts  were  not  to  his  taste,  more  than  to 
the  taste  of  his  master. 

"Lewis,  did  you  never  hear  of  the  doppelt  ganger?" 

"Well,  now  I  bethinks  me— yes,  sir,  I  have,  sir;  but  I 
never  believed  in  it,  sir — never;  but  ghosts,  ghosts,  are 
very  different,  very  different,  sir.  The  shades  of  the 
dead  are  sometimes  troubled,  and  they  walk,  restless  like, 
sir,  and  a  walking  ghost  ought  to  be  laid,  sir." 

"Laid?  I  should  consider  it  a  difficult  task  to  lay  out 
a  ghost.  One,  certainly,  would  have  to  catch  it  first.  As 
Socrates  of  old  once  said:  'You  may  bury  me,  after  I 
have  left  my  body,  if  you  can  catch  me.'  Ghosts  are 
very  illusive,  Lewis.  But  to  return  to,  my  doppelt 
ganger.  I  believe  it  is  now  called  the  astral  body.  Yes, 
I  certainly  saw  the  astral  form  of  that  haughty,  black- 
eyed  '  Jane  Erie." 


70  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"And  what  should  the  astral  form  want  of  you,  sir? 
She  is  a  grade  lower  than  those  who  serve  you  here,  sir; 
beneath  even  me,  sir." 

"Well,  I  don't  suppose  the  astral  form  stops  to  con- 
sider caste,  Lewis;  but  why  she  should  care  to  visit  me, 
that  is  the  question  which  puzzles  me." 

"May  be,  sir,  as  how  she  has  fallen  in  love^  with  you, 
sir." 

"That  is  not  at  all  likely,  Lewis,  but  if,  possibly,  it 
might  be  so,  it  would  be  a  strange  sort  of  love;  she  is 
not  one  to  indulge  in  sickly  sentimentality,  I  should  say. 
Her  great,  flashing,  weird  eyes  look  strangely  at  me,  and 
she  carries  herself  as  haughtily  as  a  duchess.  Those 
weird  eyes  are  strangely  fascinating,  however.  Lewis, 
do  you  think  that  women  have  the  power  of  hypnotism — 
mesmerism,  you  know?  Do  you  think  that  a  woman 
could  mesmerize  one?" 

"I  never  heard  about  women  having  the  power,  sir; 
but  they  do  say  there  are  plenty  of  men  who  can  hypno- 
tize people.  Don't  know  why  women  should  not  be  able 
to  do  the  same — but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
doppelt  ganger." 

"I  think  it  has  much  to  do  with  it,  Lewis.  The  astral 
form— or  doppelt  ganger— is  the  real  person,  as  I  under- 
stand it;  consequently,  would  have  the  power  to  hypno- 
tize one — and  I  believe  I  was  hypnotized  last  night,  by 
the  astral  form  of  that  black  eyed  beauty,  Jane  Erie." 

Lewis  laughed,  and,  with  a  significant  look,  said: 

"Then  if  she  hypnotizes  you,  sir,  the  blame — if  blame 
comes — must  rest  with  her." 

"Just  so,  Lewis.  I  shall  get  better  acquainted  with 
that  sprite,  be  sure.  Now,  Lewis,  dress  me  in  my  very 
best,  for  I  dine  with  the  Mortons  today." 

At  this  time  of  year,  there  were  but  few  guests  at  the 
Morton  House.  Tourists  and  travelers  preferred  the  city 
of  Los  Angeles  to  the  seaside.  It  was  during  the  sum- 
mer months  that  the  Morton  Hotel  was  full.  There  were 
but  one  or  two  old  people,  who  kept  close  to  their  rooms, 
so  there  would  be  no  one  at  dinner,  but  a  very  deaf  old 
gentleman,  besides  Mrs.  Morton  and  Isabel  and  Marcus 
Chesterfield. 

Mr.  Chesterfield  arrived  at  the  appointed   hour.     Mrs. 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  71 

Morton  welcomed  him  with  great  effusiveness.  Isabel 
was  cold,  but  dainty  and  sweet  as  a  blush  rose. 

Mrs.  Morton  took  Mr.  Chesterfield's  arm  when  dinner 
was  announced,  and  Isabel  smiled  sweetly  into  the  deaf 
old  gentleman's  face,  as  she  supported  his  trembling 
steps  down  the  stairs,  all  the  time  making  it  appear  that 
she  was  clinging  to  his  arm  for  support.  This  pleased 
him  greatly,  for  many  a  year  had  passed  since  beautiful 
ladies  sought  the  support  of  his  arm. 

The  conversation  at  the  table  was  unimportant,  not 
worth  recording;  but  that  private  interview  which  was 
to  be  granted  shortly  after  dinner  was  all  important  in 
the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Morton.  On  that  interview  hung  her 
destiny,  so  she  thought. 

Time  dragged  heavily,  but  at  last,  at  last,  she  found 
herself  alone  with  Mr.  Chesterfield  in  her  small,  private 
parlor,  leading  from  the  main  drawing-room.  Soon  after 
a  few  preliminary  remarks,  not  at  all  important  to  the 
thread  of  our  story,  or  at  all  interesting  to  Mrs.  Morton, 
Mr.  Chesterfield  said: 

"Madam,  I  suppose  you  discern  the  object  of  this  in- 
terview?" 

"Possibly  so,"  answered  Mrs.  Morton;  a  look  of  triumph 
flashing  into  her  face. 

"I  thought  it  well,  madam,  to  gain  your  consent  before 
asking  your  sweet  daughter,  Isabel,  to  give  me  her 
hand  in  marriage." 

"Mr.  Chesterfield,  you  have  my  full  and  free  consent 
to  propose  to  my  daughter.  I  consider  that  you  honor 
us  greatly  by  your  preference." 

So  that  settled  the  matter,  as  far  as  Mrs.  Morton  was 
concerned;  but  how  would  it  be  with  Isabel?  Her  man- 
ner was  certainly  cold.  It  might,  possibly,  be  caused  by 
shyness  and  modesty.  Well,  he  could  but  make  the 
plunge. 

The  old  gentleman  retired  early,  and  while  Isabel  was 
playing  some  favorite  airs  on  the  piano,  Mrs.  Morton 
slipped,  unobserved,  from  the  room. 

"It  must  be  now  or  never,"  thought  Marcus  Chester- 
field; and,  when  Isabel  ceased  playing,  and  turned  on.  the 
piano  stool,  Mr.  Chesterfield,  seating  himself  as  closely 
as  possible  to  Isabel,  said,  his  voice  trembling  slightly: 


72  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

"Miss  Morton,  I  find  that  I  love  and  admire  you  above 
all  other  young  ladies;  and  I  desire  to  make  you  my  wife. 
Your  mother  has  already  given  her  consent  to  our  union. 
It  now  remains  for  your  sweet  lips  to  say  the  one  little 
word  which  will  make  me  happy.  Dearest  Isabel,  will 
you  be  my  wife?" 

The  girl's  eyes  did  not  droop  beneath  his  gaze.  Her 
color  remained  the  same  as  before.  She  was  as  sweet 
and  cool  as  a  spring  violet. 

"Mr.  Chesterfield,"  she  said,  "you  did  not  ask  me  if  I 
loved  you;  and  I  think  that  question  more  important 
than  any  other." 

"Did  I  not?  How  inadvertent."  He  took  her  hand. 
"Sweet  Isabel — do  you  love  me?" 

"Mr.  Chesterfield,  I  do  not — that  is  to  say — I  do  not 
love  you  more  than  I  love  a  great  many  other  people; 
and  I  thought  it  necessary  to  love  the  man  I  would 
marry  above  all  other  beings  in  the  world." 

"I  think,"  remarked  Mr.  Chesterfield,  "that  such  ideas 
are  very  romantic— more  romantic,  perhaps,  than  true. 
If  you  love  no  one  else,  and  think  me  a  desirable  young 
man,  I  see  no  reason  why  we  should  not  marry.  You 
are  very  young  yet,  Isabel.  Your  regard  for  me  may 
become  greater  as  you  grow  older.  You  are  aware,  I 
think,  that  I  can  give  you  great  wealth." 

"But,  do  you  think,  Mr.  Chesterfield,  that  wealth  will 
give  us  the  happiness  we  desire?" 

"I  do  not  see  how  there  can  be  any  happiness  without 
wealth." 

"If  I  thought  I  could  love  you,  as  I  think  one  ought  to 
love  the  man  one  marries,  I  might  look  favorably  upon 
your  proposal;  at  least,  I  would  try  to  for  my  mother's 
sake.  She  greatly  desires  that  we  shall  wed.  Perhaps, 
Mr.  Chesterfield,  in  a  year  from  this  time,  I  shall  know 
my  own  mind  better.  I  am  willing  to  promise  you,  that, 
if  at  the  end  of  a  year,  I  find  I  love  you  more  than  all 
others,  I  will  become  your  wife.  More  than  this  I  can- 
not do." 

Entreaty  nor  persuasion  could  not  move  her  from  this 
decision.  Marcus  was  obliged  to  yield,  much  against  his 
will.  He  arose;  his  manner  was  cool  and  collected.  "I 
hold  you  engaged,  then,  for  one  year?" 


A  MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  73 

"Yes,  if  it  so  please  you." 

"Accept,  then,  this  ring  of  betrothal— a  diamond  of 
rare  value,"  and  he  placed  it  upon  her  finger.  "This  is 
New  Year's  day.  Upon  New  Year's  day,  one  year 
hence— the  New  Year's  day  of  nineteen  hundred — our 
marriage  shall  take  place,  unless,  before  that  time,  you. 
return  the  ring  to  me,  with  the  words — that  you  love  an- 
other better  than  you  do  me." 

Isabel  bowed  assent,  and  Mr.  Chesterfield  took  his  de- 
parture. 


74  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER    XIII.      • 

THE   PROSPECTIVE   MILLIONAIRE. 

"Pretty  cool  time  of  it,"  said  he  to  himself.  "Stupid! 
I  never  felt  more  stupid  in  my  life.  Dull  and  stupid 
beyond  anything!  Stupid  old  man.  Stupid  old  mother. 
No  doubt  she  thinks  herself  young,  however;  and,  Isa- 
bel— as  uninteresting  a  young  lady  as  I  ever  met.  Can't 
say,  for  the  life  of  me,  why  I  asked  her  to  be  my  wife. 
Don't  know  that  I  want  her;  yet  she  is  as  pretty  as  a 
pink  and  as  cool  as  a  cucumber.  I  wanted  to  see  if  I 
could  inspire  her  with  the  least  amount  of  warmth  for 
me.  Mrs.  Morton?  Bah!  She  simply  wants  me  to 
marry  the  girl  because  I  am  rich.  If  I  were  in  poverty, 
she.  probably,  would  not  allow  me  to  pass  inside  her 
door.  I,  really,  do  not  care  whether  the  girl  marries 
me  or  not.  Believe  I  have  been  drawn  into  this  by  an 
unseen  pcwer;  the  power  of  that  woman's  wish,  or  will. 
I  knew  she  wanted  me  to  marry  the  girl,  and  her  will 
seemed  to  force  me  on,  as  my  own  will  was  weak  in  the 
matter:  for  I  hardly  cared  which  way — to  use  a  vulgar 
phrase — the  cat  jumped. 

"Well,  I  have  tied  myself  up  for  a  year,  at  least.  But 
I  am  young  yet.  Don't  know  that  I  care  to  marry  for 
the  next  five  years." 

***** 

Mrs.  Morton  bounced  in  upon  Isabel  as  soon  as  she 
heard  the  young  man  depart. 

"Oh,  Isabel!  Darling  Isa!  When  is  the  happy  day 
to  be?" 

"A  year  from  today,  mama,  if  we  both  retain  the 
same  mind." 

"A  year  from  today?  Are  you  crazy,  Isabel?  A 
year  from  today?  A  whole  year— an  eternity!  Why,  he 
might  fall  in  love  with  twenty  girls  before  that  time!" 

"Just  so,  mama.  And  would  it  not  be  better  for  him 
to  fall  in  love  before  marriage  than  after?  If  he  can 
fall  in  love  with  any  girl  during  the  coming  year,  he 
certainly  does  not  love  me.  Mother,  I  hope,  when  I  do 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  75 

marry,  my  husband's  love  will  last  more  than  a  year; 
and.  if  he  could,  by  any  possible  means,  fall  in  love 
with  twenty,  during  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  I,  cer- 
tainly, do  not  care  to  be  his  wife." 

"Oh,  Isabel;  marriage  would  keep  him  from  falling  in 
love  with  any  other  than  his  wife." 

"Would  it,  mama?  Then  there  must  be  many  who 
are  mistaken  in  their  opinions." 

"And  you  have  just  .as  good  as  refused  the  best  offer 
you  will  ever  have?" 

"Perhaps  so,  mama,  if  you  look  at  it  from  a  purely 
business  standpoint.  Mother,  if  I  must  sell  myself,  give 
me  a  year  of  grace,  I  beg.  Let  me  have  one  more 
happy  year,  before  I  sink  into  hopeless  misery." 

"Did  ever  any  girl  talk  like  this  before,  while  refus- 
ing a  millionaire?" 

"Mama,  I  believe  I  could  be  far  happier  on  a  mill, 
than  a  million,  providing  love  went  with  the  mill,  and 
indifference  with  the  million." 

Mrs.  Morton  threw  herself  into  a  chair  and  burst  into 
tears  of  chagrin  and  disappointment.  "Oh,  sharper 
than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thankless  child." 

"Mother,,  I  am  not  thankless;  believe  me,  no!  I 
would  give  my  life  for  you,  dear  mama.  I  only  ask  for 
this  one  year  of  grace;  then,  if  you  desire,  I  will  marry 
Marcus  Chesterfield  next  New  Year's  day,"  and  Isabel, 
kissing  her  mother  softly,  went  to  her  own  room. 
***** 

It  had  been  arranged  between  the  old  fisherman  and 
Mark  Chester,  that  the  latter  should  keep  his  small, 
comfortable,  but  cheap  room  at  the  hotel. 

"Fur  yer  know,"  said  Nathaniel,  "thet  Molly  ain't  got 
room  enough  fur  both  on  us;  an'  as  long  as  yer  thar, 
yer  might  as  well  git  yer  breakfast  thar,  too.  It  '11  be 
jest  as  cheap,  I  reckon.  But  as  we  kin  never  know  jest 
when  we  '11  git  in,  we  mote  as  well  hev  our  dinner 
together  on  the  beach." 

"That  will  suit  me  much  better  than  sleeping  in  the 
boat,"  said  Mark,  "for  when  I  am  not  fishing,  I 
should  like  to  keep  myself  as  neat  as  possible — more- 
over, my  better  clothes  would  soon  be  spoiled  in  the 
boat." 


76  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Thet's  true,  young  chap,  as  I  guess  yer  '11  hev  an 
eye  to  sum  purty  yung  gal,  sometime." 

"Yes,"  replied  Mark,  "I  hope  to  be  the  happy  hus- 
band of  a  lovely  and  loving  wife,  by  the  time  I  am 
twenty-five.  I  think,  uncle — may  I  call  you  uncle? — that 
a  man  ought  to  marry  by  that  time,  if  he  ever  intends 
to." 

"Wall,  yis,  he  ought,  pervidin'  she  don't  die.  Yis,  yer 
may  call  mo  uncle,  or,  if  yer  think  it  better  still,  I'll 
adopt  yer — yer  shall  be  my  son." 

"Well,  as  you  were  never  married,  unpleasant  compli- 
cations might  arise.  No;  I  think  it  must  be  uncle." 

"Wall,  whether  I'm  yer  dad  or  yer  uncle  won't  make 
much  difference,  fur  ef  yer  a  good  boy,  an'  a  true,  as 
I  think  yer  air,  I  will  give  yer  all  I  hev.  When  I  go  ter 
live  with  Molly  I  sha'n't  need  nothin'  on  this  'ere  airth, 
I  am  confident;  an'  now  we  air  talkin'  on  it,  thar's  a 
very  pretty  gal  as  lives  up  in  thet  thar  cottage,  yender. 
Dew  yer  see  thet  thar  little  black  cottage  on  the  rise, 
jest  off  the  beach?" 

"Yes,"   answered  Mark. 

"Wall,  thar's  a  woman  an'  her  darter  as  lives  thar. 
The  gal's  a  purty  gal  enough,  but  she's  queer.  The 
mother,  she's  good  as  gold;  an'  ef  it  wa'n't  fur  Molly, 
an'  thet  thar  woman  'd  hev  me,  don't  know,  young  fel- 
ler, but  what  I'd  git  spliced  now." 

"I  met  a  young  girl  on  the  path,  this  morning,  appar- 
ently coming  from  that  house.  Is  the  young  lady  you 
speak  of  tall,  with  dark,  flashing  eyes,  curling  lip,  and 
haughty  brow?" 

"Thet's  her — thet's  her  as  true  as  yer  live.  She's  as 
proud  as  a  queen.  This  airth  ain't  good  enough  fur 
thet  thar  young  woman,  leastwise,  I  guess  she  thinks  it 
ain't;  but  they  air,  the  most  o'  the  time,  on  the  p'int  o' 
starvation,  them  two  air;  but  the  old  un  is  as  meek  as  a 
lamb.  I  was  up  thar,  this  mornin',  an'  left  um  a  fish; 
fur  they  don't  git  much  sewin'  ter  dew,  this  time  o'  ther 
year;  an'  thet  thar  old  lady  thanked  me  with  the  tears 
a  runnin'  down  her  cheeks." 

"The  young  lady  spoke  to  me,"  said  Mark,  "mistak- 
ing me  for  another  young  man  who  is  also  staying  at 
the  hotel." 


A   MILL   AND  A  MILLION.  77 

The  old  fisherman  run  his  fingers  through  his  hair 
and  stared  at  Mark  with  a  puzzled  expression  of  coun- 
tenance. 

"She  mistook  yer  fur  thet  young  million'er,  didn't  she, 
now?  Wall,  yer  as  much  alike  as  two  peas  in  a  pod, 
thet  is  ter  say,  jest  at  ther  fust  glance.  Yer  might  hev 
ben  run  in  ther  same  mold,  but  one  o'  yer's  gold,  an* 
ther  tother's  dross,  or  my  name  ain't  Kister.  He's 
dross  covered  with  gold,  an'  yer  gold  covered  with 
dross;  thet's  ther  difference  atween  yer — so  old  Kister 
thinks." 

"I  caught  sight  of  this  young  man,  myself,  as  I  en- 
tered the  hotel  last  night.  He  was  handing  a  very 
beautiful  young  lady  into  a  superb  carriage." 

"Wall,  I  guess  that  thar  gal  was  Miss  Isabel  Mor- 
ton." 

"I  think,  uncle,  she  was  the  most  beautiful  young  lady 
I  ever  saw  in  my  life.  She  seemed  to  me  as  fresh  as  a 
rose  and  as  modest  and  sweet  as  a  violet.  Uncle,  if  I 
ever  marry,  I  hope  my  wife  will  look  like  Miss  Morton. 
My  impressions  of  the  other  young  lady  are  not  favor- 
able. You  called  the  young  gentleman  a  millionaire. 
Uncle,  I  am  determined  to  be  worth  a  million,  at  least, 
before  I  am  twenty-five  years  old." 

Mr.  Nathaniel  Kester  raised  himself  to  his  feet,  thrust 
both  hands  into  his  pockets,  spread  his  legs  apart  and 
looked  at  Mark  with  protruding  eyes  and  puffed  out 
cheeks. 

"A  million'er?  Whew!  An'  dew  yer  expect  ter  make 
a  million  dollars  catching  yaller-tails,  rock  cod,  smelt, 
herrin',  an'  halibut,  with  now  an*  then  a  salmon  thrown 
in?  Not  much,  young  man— not  much!  Ef  yer  make  a 
decent  livin'  at  it,  it  is  ther  most  thet  eny  on  us  expect. 
Thar's  not  a  fisherman  on  this  'ere  coast  thet  kin  beet 
old  Kister,  an'  I  hev  ben  fishin'  here  fur  ther  last  five 
year,  an'  I  guess  a  thousand  dollars  is  about  all  I  hev 
made.  Yer  crazy,  young  man — yer  clean  gone  crazy!" 

"No;  I  am  in  my  right  mind;  but  I  will  be  worth  one 
million  dollars  in  five  years  from  this  time,  or  I  will  go 
where  money  is  not  needed." 

"Dew  yer  intend  ter  turn  trainrobber,  or  highway- 
man, or  sum  sich?"  asked  Nathaniel.  "Ef  yer  dew,  yer 


78  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

might  as  well  leave  me  an'  Molly  right  now,  jist  as 
quick  as  yer  kin,  fur  Molly,  nor  me,  never  wronged  no 
man  outen  a  cent.  Molly  wouldn't  allow  it — she 
wouldn't." 

"No,  uncle.  I  will  never  wrong  anyone  out  of  a  cent. 
I  will  get  my  money  honestly  or  not  at  all.  I  do  not 
expect  to  get  rich  catching  fish,  but  it  will  give  me  a 
start  in  the  right  direction.  How  does  it  happen  that 
the  young  man  of  whom  you  speak,  is  worth  a  million?" 

"Oh,  his  father  left  it  to  him.  Ther  young  feller,  his- 
self,  never  aimed  a  penny  in  his  life;  but,  atween  you 
an'  me,  I  think  he'll  manige  ter  git  red  on  it  all,  in  short 
order." 

"Uncle  Kester,  do  you  think  he  will  enjoy  as  much 
the  spending  of  his  million,  that  he  has  not  earned,  as 
I  shall  in  earning  a  million?" 

"Wall,  now,  thet's  a  question  as  I  never  thought  on 
afore.  'Pears  like  a  man  must  enjoy  spendin'  money 
more  than  airnin'  of  it." 

"Then  you  think  a  man  enjoys  idleness  and  vice  better 
than  he  does  industry  and  virtue?" 

"Can't  say  thet  I  dew,  a  lookin'  on  it  in  thet  light." 

"Do  not  you  believe,  uncle,  that  poor  men  are  happier 
than  rich  ones?" 

"Don't  know  'bout  thet;  but,  ef  yer  think  so,  why  in 
tarnation  dew  yer  want  ter  git  rich?" 

"Well,"  answered  Mark,  musingly,  "I  have  heard  it 
said,  that  whatever  one  wills  to  do,  one  can  do,  providing 
the  will  is  powerful — exceedingly  powerful  and  tena- 
cious— never  relaxing  its  hold  or  purpose.  When  I  found 
myself  on  this  lone  beach,  friendless,  and  without  a 
penny,  I  swore,  to  myself,  that  I  would  be  rich— that  I 
would  make  friends  of  all  mankind — that  I  never  would 
commit  a  dishonorable  act,  or  an  act  of  any  kind  that 
could  grieve  my  angel  mother,  or  bring  the  blush  of 
shame  to  the  cheek  of  some  sweet  and  beautiful  girl 
whom  I  should  one  day  meet  and  marry;  at  the  same 
time,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  commence  by 
performing,  faithfully  and  well,  the  first  labor  that  came 
to  my  hand,  no  matter  how  low  or  mean  it  might  be 
considered,  providing  it  was  honorable  and  the  money 
received  for  it  had  been  really  earned." 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  79 

"Wall,  now,  boy,  yer  can't  airn  uo  million  dollars  at 
eny  kind  o'  labor,  no  matter  what." 

"I  know  that  as  well  as  you  do,  uncle;  but  I  shall  be 
able  to  make  money  in  some  other  way,  yet  labor  must 
be  the  starting  point." 

"But  yer  sed  as  how  yer  wuldn't  take  nuthin'  as  yer 
didn't  aim." 

"Neither  will  I,  for  whatever  I  take,  I  will  earn  in 
some  way." 

"Wall;  yer  a  lad  arter  my  own  heart,  an'  Molly's 
with  yer,  boy,  be  sure  o'  thet.  Now,  it  'pears  like  ter 
me,  thet  Molly  an"  thet  good  mother  o'  yourn  air  friends 
over  thar  on  t'other  side,  yer  know." 

"Uncle  Nathan,  I  believe  they  are;  and  I  do  not  think 
they  are  very  far  away  from  us,  either.  I  believe  they 
are  near  us,  and  know  all  about  us,  and  will  help  us,  in 
every  possible  way,  if  we  live  right  and  do  right.  I 
never  mean  to  do  anything,  in  the  whole  course  of  my 
life,  tbat  could  grieve  my  angel  mother  in  the  slightest." 

"But  I  hev  hearn  tell,  thet  ther  love  o'  money  was 
ther  root  of  all  evil.  Would  it  please  her,  dew  yer 
think,  fur  you  ter  set  yer  mind  on  a  makin'  a  million?" 

"Yes:  if  when  I  have  made  it,  I  use  it  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  poor  and  needy,  or  for  the  enlightenment  of 
mankind  in  general,  or  for  any  purpose  for  the  good  of 
the  world.  After  I  have  earned  my  million,  I  will  spend 
it  in  doing  good,  or  I  will  turn  it  over  in  such  a  way 
that  it  shall  do  the  most  good  to  the  largest  number." 

This  conversation  took  place  just  as  the  sun  was 
dropping  below  the  horizon,  on  New  Year's  day,  while 
Uncle  Kester  and  Mark  were  eating  their  dinner  on  the 
beach,  by  the  side  of  Molly.  They  had  spent  the  day 
in  making  a  few  repairs  and  cleaning  up  the  boat;  for, 
early  on  the  following  morning,  they  intended  to  row 
out  to  the  most  available  spot  and  haul  in  as  many  fish 
as  possible. 

"Look  at  thet  thar  sun,"  said  Uncle  Nathan.  "Look's 
like  as  though  he  intended  to  drown  hisself  in  the  Pa- 
cific, or  else  set  ther  big  ocean  on  fire!  But  thet  thar 
sea  just  cools  his  arder,"  and  Uncle  Kester  shivered, 
for  as  the  sun  dipped  into  the  sea,  the  air  became  cold 
and  penetrating. 


80  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Thar  he  goes,  out  o'  sight;  an'  it  '11  be  dark  in  five 
ininits.  We  don't  hev  much  glomin'  in  these  ere  parts. 
Now,  boy,  we  shell  want  ter  start  very  airly  in  ther 
mornin',  long  'fore  ther  sun  gits  up  over  them  thar 
mountins;  but  fust,  I'll  smoke  awhile.  Perhaps  yer'd 
better  go  up  to  ther  hotel  an'  go  ter  bed  airly,  an'  when 
my  pip's  out  I'll  go  ter  rest  with  Molly — perhaps  ter 
dream  o'  my  angel  Molly.  I  am  thinkin'  o'  jinin'  my 
Molly  in  t'other  world,  while  you  air  thinkin'  o'  ther  one 
yer  will  hev,  by  an'  by,  in  this  world." 

Mark  arose,  and  giving  his  hand  to  his  new  found 
friend,  said: 

"Good  night,  uncle;  happy  dreams.  I  will  join  you 
early  in  the  morning." 

"Good  night,  pardner — good  night,  my  boy — hope  yer 
'11  dream  o'  ther  purty  lady  yer  '11  marry,  some  day." 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  81 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

GOOD   RESOLUTIONS. 

The  full  moon  was  now  rising  over  the  distant  moun- 
tain tops,  making  a  glittering,  silvery  pathway  across 
the  Pacific,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see,  giving  to  the 
roads  and  pathways  of  the  little  town  a  silvery  sheen, 
gilding  the  spires  of  the  churches,  making  all  things 
weird  and  beautiful  in  its  light. 

Mark  walked  up  the  pathway  toward  the  hotel  which 
was  now  to  be  his  home  for  a  time  at  least.  Arriving 
there,  the  beauty  of  the  night  enticed  him  onward,  and 
as  he  did  not  care  to  retire  so  early,  he  thought  he  would 
take  a  turn  through  the  little  town. 

He  had  not  walked  far,  when,  by  the  bright  moonlight, 
he  saw  the  same  young  man  whom  he  had  seen  the  night 
before  handing  the  young  lady  into  the  carriage,  de- 
scending the  steps  of  a  nice  looking  residence,  which  he 
was  passing  at  the  moment. 

"The  young  man  who  looks  like  me,"  thought  Mark. 
"Ah!  he  has  been  paying  his  respects  to  that  lovely 
young  lady,  his  fiance,  no  doubt.  The  most  beautiful 
girl  I  ever  saw." 

And  Mark  heaved  a  sigh.  He  could  not  have  told 
why.  He  glanced  at  the  door  as  he  passed  on.  It  was  of 
stained  glass,  the  gaslight,  within,  giving  to  it  brightness 
and  beauty.  Above  the  door  he  read:  "Morton  House," 
and  at  the  next  crossing  he  read,  "Belleview  Avenue." 

That  house,  then,  was  where  the  charming  young  girl 
resided.  She,  no  doubt,  loved  and  would  marry  the  man 
who  was  worth  a  million  and  looked  like  him. 

He  did  not  envy  the  aforesaid  young  man,  but  he 
meant,  some  day,  to  occupy  a  position  as  good.  He 
wandered  on,,  for  an  hour  or  more,  and  then  returned. 
As  he  passed  the  Morton  House,  on  his  return,  he  hap- 
pened to  glance  up  at  a  window  in  the  second  story.  It 
was  open,  but  no  light  was  within.  The  night  was  so 
still  that  he  heard  distinctly  a  heavy  sigh,  at  the  same 
time  he  caught  sight  of  a  form,  at  the  window,  with 


82  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

head  bowed  on  the  folded  arms.  The  moonlight  shone 
full  on  the  golden  hair,  the  rounded  arms,  the  beautiful 
neck,  and  the  shining,  white  drapery;  but  the  heavy, 
mornful  sigh,  the  drooping  attitude,  pierced  the  young 
man  to  the  heart. 

"That  is  certainly  Miss  Isabel  Morton,"  thought  Mark. 
"I  should  know  her  among  ten  thousand.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  she  is  unhappy?  A  happy  young  lady 
would  never  droop  and  sigh  like  that." 

He  passed  on  and  soon  ascended  the  steps  of  the 
grand  hotel  that  was  now  his  home. 

Mark  Chester  went  directly  to  his  room.  The  room 
was  small,  simply,  but  neatly  furnished,  and  contained 
that  modern  convenience,  a  gas-log.  It  was  the  first 
thing  of  the  kind  that  Mark  had  ever  seen. 

The  chamber  maid  had  already  told  him  how  it  was 
to  be  managed;  and,  as  the  night  was  cold,  he  turned 
on  the  gas  and  applied  a  match  to  it.  The  effect  was 
charming  to  one  who  was  not  acquainted  with  this  sort 
of  thing;  it  really  appeared  quite  magical. 

Mark  gazed  at  the  fire  with  happy  eyes  and  pleased 
countenance. 

During  the  day  Mark  had  brought  up  to/  the  room  the 
clothes  he  was  to  wear  when  engaged  in  that  very  se- 
ductive employment,  fishing  for  "yaller-tails."  After 
putting  his  clothes  in  order,  he  drew  an  easy  chair  and 
the  table  near  to  the  grate;  seating  himself  he  gazed  re- 
flectively at  the  magical  fire. 

The  paper,  which  had  been  wrapped  around  the  clothes, 
still  lay  upon  the  table.  It  was  strong,  light  brown 
wrapping  paper.  Mechanically  he  took  up  the  paper  and 
began  to  fold  it  into  sheets  about  the  size  of  common 
letter  paper.  He  carefully  smoothed  out  all  the  creases; 
then,  taking  a  pen-knife  from  his  pocket,  he  run  the 
blade  through  the  folds  of  the  paper,  and  when  he  had 
done  this,  he  found  he  had  about  a  dozen  sheets  of  very 
good  paper. 

Thus  far  his  actions  had  been  mechanical.  He  was 
naturally  neat  and  methodical  in  all  things.  His  brain 
was  also  exceedingly  active,  and  he  was  alone.  This 
paper  tempted  him  to  write.  Why  not  write  out  his 
thoughts,  his  intentions,  his  resolutions?  Pen  and  ink  he 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  83 

did  riot  yet  possess,  but  there  was  a  good  lead  pencil  in 
his  vest  pocket. 

"Just  the  thing,"  he  murmured.  "Now,  let  me  see — 
what  shall  I  write  about  first?  Shall  I  keep  a  diary? 
Yes;  I  will  keep  a  <!iary.  I  will  date  my  diary:  Re- 
dondo  Beach,  New  Year's  Night,  January  1,  1899, 

"Diary." 

"Mark  Chester— orphan ;  born  in  London,  1879,  on  New 
Year's  Eve.  Having  lost  my  parents,  and  being  without 
any  near  relatives,  I  have  come  to  this  New  World  to 
seek  my  fortune,  or,  rather,  to  make  my  fortune;  think- 
ing that  the  prospects  here  for  a  penniless  young  man 
might  be  better  than  in  England:  moreover,  it  was  the 
wish  of  my  dying  mother. 

"I  arrived  here  last  night — New  Year's  Eve — how 
very  strange!  The  evening  of  my  birth." 

He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  drew  forth  the  mill. 

"Ho!  little  talisman,"  he  said.  "You  are  all  the  money 
I  have,  at  present.  My  mother,  on  her  death  bed,  re- 
called this  to  my  mind — the  mill  she  put  in  my  Christmas 
stocking  some  years  before.  You  are  my  sole  inheritance. 
On  my  arrival  here,  last  night,  I  sat  dismally  on  the 
beach,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  My  darling  mother's 
spirit  overshadowed  me.  She  softly  whispered  that  she 
would  inspire  some  one  to  aid  me.  An  old  fisherman, 
shortly  thereafter,  drew  his  boat  up  on  to  the  sands.  It 
was  late  and  he  asked  me  to  help  him.  I  did  so.  He 
proved  to  be  a  kind-hearted,  good  man.  He  paid  me  for 
my  services  and  I  was  enabled,  thereby,  to  secure  a 
room  and  breakfast  at  a  fine  hotel — the  hotel  where  I 
am  now  staying.  It  is  called  'Redondo  House.'  The 
fisherman's  name  is  Nathaniel  Kester.  He  is  a  genuine 
Yankee,  from  New  England,  and  I  love  him  dearly.  We 
have  entered  into  partnership,  and,  for  the  present,  I 
shall  become  a  fisherman.  The  world  may  think  this  a 
very  low  calling  for  an  educated  and  aspiring  young 
man;  but  I  will  not  ignore  any  calling,  providing  it  is 
honorable.  My  object,  now,  in  keeping  this  diary,  is  to 
draw  up  a  code  of  resolutions,  to  aid  and  strengthen 
me  in  my  future  career,  put  them  down  in  black  and 
white — or,  rather,  this  wrapping  paper  is  brown — and 


84  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

strictly  adhere  to  them  for  the  remainder  of  my  life  on 
earth. 

"O,  my  sainted  mother,  I  conjure  thee  now,  to  come 
near  and  help  me;  for  I  am  assured  that  our  departed 
loved  ones  are  often  near  us,  to  watch  over  our  welfare 

and  help  us. 

*  *  *  *  * 

"I  have  been  sitting  passively  for  a  short  time,  thinking 
that  my  mother  would  thus  be  better  able  to  influence 
me,  and  tell  me  something  about  the  way  in  which  I 
should  conduct  my  future  life.  Ah!  yes.  She  is  with 
me  now.  She  is  bending  over  me.  I  feel  her  long  hair, 
as  it  falls  across  my  shoulders,  and  the  gentle  pressure  of 
her  hand  upon  my  head:  together,  we  will  write  out  the 
code  of  resolutions: — 

"I  take  oath,  to  thee,  sweet  spirit  of  my  mother,  that 
I  will  never  use  tobacco. 

"I  will  never  drink  intoxicating  liquors. 

"I  will  never  use  profane  language. 

"I  will  never,  knowingly,  wrong  man,  woman,  or 
child. 

"I  will  do,  with  all  my  might,  whatever  my  hands  find 
to  do. 

"I  will  commence  by  doing  that  which  lies  nearest  me 
to  be  done. 

"And,  whatever  I  do,  no  matter  how  humble  it  may  be, 
I  will  do  to-  the  very  best  of  my  ability. 

"I  will  deal  honestly  with  all  mankind. 

"I  will  not  gamble  or  bet.    I  will  not  drive  fast  horses. 

"I  will  love  and  treat  with  politeness  all  human  beings. 
I  will  never  be  cruel  to  animals.  I  will  relieve  all  suffer- 
ing, wherever  I  find  it,  as  much  as  lies  within  my  power. 

"In  one  year  from  today  I  shall  be  legally  entitled  to 
vote. 

"I  will  never,  knowingly,  cast  a  vote  because  someone, 
or  some  party,  political,  or  otherwise,  desires  me  to  do 
so.  I  will  vote  for  no  law  which  I  think  wrong;  neither 
for  any  candidate  for  office,  that  I  believe  to  be  immoral 
or  impure.  I  will  only  cast  my  vote  for  those  who,  I 
think,  are  truly  good,  and  have  the  welfare  of  humanity 
at  heart.  I  will  try,  by  all  fair  and  honorable  means,  to 
become  wealthy;  not  that  I  may  selfishly  enjoy  wealth, 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  85 

but  that,   with  it,     I    may    be    better    able    to  help  my 
brother  man. 

"I  will  never  marry  without  love;  but,  I  hope  to  love 
and  marry. 

"My  wife  shall  have  equal  privileges  with  myself,  and 
shall  stand  to  me  as  the  better  part  of  myself. 

"I  will  envy  no  man,  nor  be  covetous  of  anything 
which  belongs  to  another;  but  I  will  strive  to  be  myself 
and  live  my  own  life — that  is,  I  will  try  to  individualize 
myself,  and  walk  in  a  path  all  my  own. 

"I  will  commit  no  act  that  my  loving  mother,  and  ah 
other  pure  angels,  might  not  approve;  and  I  will  pray  In 
secret,  that  I  may  know  what  will  be  best  for  me  to  do 
at  all  times. 

"Religion:  It  shall  be  my  religion  to  search  for,  and 
discover  truth,  wherever  she  may  be  found,  and  accept 
the  highest  truth  that  I  may  be  able  to  understand. 

"I  will  fight  against  ignorance,  which  I  believe  to  be 
all  the  hell  and  devil  there  is,  and  try  to  set  free  from 
error  everyone  with  whom  I  come  in  contact,  and  help 
them  to  turn  their  faces  toward  the  truth  and  right.  I 
will  try  to  gain,  within  my  own  soul,  all  the  wisdom, 
truth,  and  love,  which  is  possible  for  it  to  hold;  and,  my 
conception  of  God  is  wisdom,  love,  and  truth. 

"Now,  I  have  laid  down  twenty  maxims  for  myself, 
the  same  number  of  years  that  I  have  lived  here  on 
earth.  I  will  keep  this  diary  and  each  year  I  will  sum 
up  what  I  have  written,  that  I  may  see  how  much  I 
have  gained,  not  only  in  material  substance,  but  in  (spirit- 
ual or  heavenly  things. 

"There  you  lie,  my  jolly  little  mill!  Next  year,  I  will 
place  by  your  side  what  I  have  cleared  in  money.  Here 
you  are,  my  little  brown  diary;  and  next  New  Year's 
day,  I  will  credit  myself  for  the  amount  of  wisaom,  love 
and  truth,  I  have  gained  within  the  year.  This  brown 
paper,  on  which  I  am  writing,  is  worth  about  one  mill, 
also." 

Mark  took  a  pin  from  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  and  pinned 
the  leaves  of  his  diary  together;  then,  laying  it  out,  quite 
smoothly,  he  placed  a  large  book  upon  it.  The  book  was 
lying  upon  the  commode,  and  proved  to  be  a  heavy  vol- 
ume of  advertisements,  left  there  for  the  benefit  of  the 


86  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

guests,  possibly,  but  in  all  probability,  for  the  supposed 
benefit  of  those  who  advertised  therein. 

"You  are  all  right,"  said  Mark,  speaking  to  the  book. 
"I  may  want  to  consult  you  before  the  year  is  out." 

Mark  turned  off  the  gas,  "For,"  said  he,  "I  will  com- 
mence by  being  just  to  the  landlord,  and  will  not  burn 
the  gas  when  I  do  not  need  it." 

He  went  to  the  window  and  drawing  aside  the  curtain 
looked  forth.  The  night  was  like  an  exquisite  dream  of 
Paradise.  The  moon  was  riding  high  in  the  heavens  and 
Mark  let  his  imagination  take  wings. 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  87 


CHAPTER   XV. 
"SWEAR   THAT   YOU   WILL   MARRY   ME." 

"Ah!"  said  he,  "you  are  a  silver  chariot,  drawn  by 
prancing,  snow-white  steeds,  and  within  is  seated  the 
Goddess  of  Love.  How  magnetic  and  beautiful  she  is — 
how  pure.  She  is  scattering  snow-drops  over  the  sleep- 
ing Earth.  She  bends  downward  to  kiss  the  radiant 
ocean  as  though  it  were  a  beauteous  maid.  The  courtly 
stars  surround  her.  She  is  like  a  queen  in  their  midst.  . 
She  kisses  her  hand  to  each  one,  throwing  her  snow- 
drops toward  them. 

"Beautiful,  glorious,  Queen  of  the  Night!  Your  sil- 
very mantle  floats  from  you,  in  all  directions,  as  you 
ride.  How  white  the  sands  look  in  your  rays — and  that 
is  Molly's  black  hulk,  looming  up  yonder. 

"Molly  and  Kester.  Good  old  Kester!  Sound  asleep 
by  this  time,  no  doubt;  and,  just  over  in  that  direction, 
I  see  the  lights  from  the  Morton  House,  and  just  above 
the  light  is  the  window,  where  that  beautiful  girl  sat 
and  sighed,  with  her  sweet  face  hidden  in  her  arms. 

"Ah!  there  is  a  couple,  just  out  there,  walking  arm-in- 
arm  on  the  sands,  not  far  from  the  little  brown  cottage 
where  that  dark-eyed  girl  and  her  mother  reside. 
Surely,  it  is  very  late  for  any  young  lady  to  be  walking 
on  the  beach — that,  if  I  mistake  not,  is  the  young  man 
who  looks  like  me — the  millionaire.  No,  I  am  not  mis- 
taken. It  is  he;  and  the  lady — it  must  be  Miss  Erie.  No 
other  young  lady,  whom  I  have  ever  seen,  carries  herself 
like  that— haughty  and  graceful  as  a  queen. 

"He  is  bending  over  and  kissing  her  hand,  as  sure  as 
I  live! 

"Why,  it  is  nearing  midnight!  She,  really,  ought  to 
be  in  the  house  with  her  mother.  If  he  is  engaged  to 
Miss  Morton,  as  Uncle  Nathan  said,  what  right  has  he 
to  be  walking  by  moonlight  and  kissing  the  hand  of  an- 
other woman?  That  can  mean  but  one  thing — love-mak- 
ing. He  must  be  false! 

"O!    how  can   he   be    false   to  that   lovely   girl? 


00  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

they  have  seated  themselves  on  that  very  bench,  where 

1  sat,  so  disconsolate,   last  night.     Her  hand  is  clasped 
in  his— her  face  is  upturned  to  his— he  kisses  her  lips— 
the   false-hearted   knave!     God  grant  that  I   may   never 
be  false  to  any  woman!" 

The  couple  arose  and  walked  slowly  toward  the  little 
brown  cottage — one  more  kiss  and  the  girl  disappeared 
within  the  house — the  young  man  turning  his  steps 
toward  the  hotel. 

Yes,  Marcus  Chesterfield  had,  that  very  evening,  en- 
gaged himself  to  Isabel  Morton;  and,  in  less  than  two 
hours  thereafter,  was  making  protestations  of  love  to 
Jane  Erie. 

On  returning  to  the  hotel,  Marcus  met  the  girl,  who 
had  been  sent  there  with  a  message  from  her  mother  to 
one  of  the  ladies  for  whom  she  was  doing  some  work. 

The  young  man  very  gallantly  offered  to  escort  her  to 
her  home,  for  it  was  past  nine  o'clock.  Secretly  de- 
lighted, she  accepted  his  proffered  arm,  and  they  contin- 
ued strolling  on  the  beach  for  an  hour  or  more.  Jane 
Erie  was  determined,  in  her  own  mind,  that  Marcus 
Chesterfield  should  make  love  to  her;  but  she  put  on  the 
semblance  of  great  coyness,  and  this,  coupled  with  her 
haughty  bearing,  inspired  the  young  man  with  a  desire 
to  conquer,  and  they  had  not  walked  more  than  an  hour 
before  he  was  making  love  to  her. 

"You  are  as  beautiful  as  a  queen,"  said  he,  "and  I 
greatly  fear,  as  cold  as  an  iceberg.  You  set  my  heart 
ablaze.  Why  do  you  draw  away  from  me  after  that  coy 
fashion?  Do  you  consider  it  wrong  for  a  young  man  to 
love  a  beautiful  girl?  To  me,  it  is  the  most  natural 
thing  in  the  world." 

"I  do  not  consider  it  wrong,"  replied  Jane,  "but  I  hear 
that  you  are  paying  your  respects  to  Isabel  Morton,  and 
I  will  not  accept  a  second  place  in  any  man's  heart.  You 
cannot  love  me  and  Isabel  at  the  same  time." 

"I  swear  to  you,"  said  Marcus,  "that  I  do  not  love 
Isabel  Morton." 

"How  does  it  happen,  then,  that  you  take  her  home 
from  balls  and  parties  in  your  carriage  and  visit  at  her 
house  evening  after  evening?  You  were  coming  from 
her  house  when  we  met." 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  89 

"Well,  a  man  must  have  something  to  amuse  and  en- 
tertain him.  Mrs.  Morton  invites  me  to  her  house,  and 
then  makes  things  lively  and  pleasant  for  me  after  I  get 
there.  There  are  music,  card  playing  and  so  forth.  My 
evenings  at  the  hotel  are  dull  and  stupid,  especially  at 
this  time  of  year." 

"You  tell  me  that  you  do  not  love  Isabel  Morton," 
said  Jane,  endeavoring  to  bring  him  round  to  the  point 
once  more.  "Prove  to  me  that  you  do  not  and  I  promise 
to  look  upon  your  suit  more  favorably." 

"How  can  I  prove  it?"  asked  the  young  man.  "Is  not 
my  word  sufficient?  I  assure  you,  I  do  not  love  Isabel 
Morton." 

"Why  have  you  asked  her  to  become  your  wife,  then?" 

Miss  Erie  sprung  the  question  upon  the  young  million- 
aire, to  entrap  him  into  a  confession.  She  did  not  really 
know  that  he  had  asked  Isabel  to  marry  him,  but  she 
spiritually  divined  it. 

"Who  told  you  that  I  had  asked  her?" 

"Well,"  answered  Jane,  "it  was  not  a  little  bird,  but  I 
am  clairvoyant,  and  with  the  eyes  of  my  spirit  I  saw 
you,  this  evening,  when  you  proposed  to  her;  and  my 
spirit  can  hear  as  well  as  see,  and  I  heard  you  ask  her 
to  be  your  wife.  I  should  not  think  you  would  care  to 
marry  a  reluctant  woman." 

"By  Jove!  you  are  right.  She  is  reluctant  and  no  mis- 
take—but she  is  a  deuced  pretty  girl,  and  her  mother  is 
determined  that  I  shall  marry  Isabel." 

"If  Mrs.  Morton  thinks  more  of  you  than  her  daughter 
does,  why  don't  you  marry  her?" 

"Well,  now,  a  fellow  cannot  marry  his  grandmother, 
you  know;  moreover,  I  don't  want  to.  I  tell  you,  Miss 
Erie,  you  attract  me  more  than  any  other  woman  I  have 
ever  met." 

"Do  I,  indeed?    But  attraction  is  not  necessarily  love." 

"No?  How  is  a  man  to  know,  then,  whether  he  loves 
or  not?" 

"I  think,"  said  Jane,  "when  a  man  really  and  truly 
loves  a  woman,  he  is  willing  to  give  up  all  things  for 
her  sake — even  life  itself — if  necessary.  You  would  not 
be  willing  to  give  up  anything  for  my  sake,  although  you 
say  that  yon  love  me." 


90  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"But  I  am  not  called  upon  to  give  up  anything,"  said 
Marcus. 

"Do  you  love  me  enough  to  give  up  half  your  fortune 
for  my  sake?  or,  do  you  simply  wish  me  to  become  a 
toy  for  your  amusement?" 

"Well,  I  have  not  given  it  much  thought,  as  yet,"  re- 
plied Marcus.  "You  are  beautiful,  you  attract  me 
strongly,  you  set  my  heart  ablaze  with  love.  I  really 
wish  you  were  mine." 

"At  the  same  time  you  do  not  wish  to  marry  me.  You 
think  I  am  low  in  the  social  scale — poverty-stricken — 
and  all  that,"  said  Jane,  with  scarlet  cheeks  and  blazing 
eyes.  "But,  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  spurn  such  love 
as  that,  and  you  had  better  leave  me  to  go  on  home 
alone,"  and  she  assayed  to  take  her  arm  from  his,  but 
he  held  it  tirrnly. 

"Not  so  fast — not  so  fast!"  exclaimed  he,  snatching 
her  hand  and  kissing  it.  "I  love  you,  Jane;  but  I  want 
more  time  to  think  about  it.  I  believe  you  would  suit  me 
better,  as  a  wife,  than  Isabel  Morton  would.  I  am  a 
rich  man,  as  you  know.  I  want  a  royal  woman  at  the 
head  of  my  establishment,  a  very  queen — and  you  are 
royal.  You  are  in  poverty  now,  as  you  say;  but  if  you 
could  dress  elegantly  and  move  in  refined  society,  you 
would  be  irresistible  and  the  world  would  lie  at  your 
feet." 

Jane  set  her  teeth  and  drew  her  breath  hard— clench- 
ing her  hands  until  the  nails  marked  the  flesh. 

"Riches  I  will  have!  The  world  shall  lie  at  my  feet; 
and  when  that  time  comes  I  will  set  my  feet  on  the 
necks  of  those  who  now  treat  me  with  disdain." 

"If  you  accept  my  love,"  said  the  young  man,  "you  shall 
have  all  that  you  desire:  money,  elegant  clothes,  a  beau- 
tiful house  all  your  own,  servants  at  your  command; 
you  shall  have  your  own  carriage,  and  do  precisely,  in 
all  things,  as  you  please." 

"If  I  accept  your  love?  What  am  I  to  understand  by 
that?  I  scorn  your  love  without  marriage!  You  have 
not  asked  me  to  be  your  wife." 

"Well,  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can  marry  two  women;  the 
law  don't  allow  it,  you  know." 

"But  you  can  break  with  Isabel." 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  91 

"Yes;  it  would  be  very  easy  to  break  with  her,  I  doubt 
not,  but  you  forget  her  mother.  I  should  rather  face 
one  of  our  modern  iron-clad  war  ships  than  that  woman. 
If  I  were  to  prove  false  to  her  daughter,  she  would  blow 
me  up  like  a  sky-rocket — sue  me  for  breach  of  promise — 
ruin  me  in  society— and,  between  her  and  the  courts,  I 
should  be  stripped  of  all  I  have  in  the  world." 

"You  would  marry  me  if  you  were  free?  Is  your  love 
strong  enough  for  that?" 

"Well,  I  cannot  say  that  I  should  want  to  marry  you 
right  here  and  now,  but  you  could  go  away,  where  you 
are  not  known,  and  if  you  were  to  accept  what  I  have 
offered  you,  people  would  think  you  were  rich  and  then 
it  would  be  all  right." 

"By  all  right  you  mean  that  you  would  marry  me?" 

"Well,  yes.    I  think  I  would." 

"But  you  shall  swear  that  you  would;  and,  if  you  were 
to  break  your  oath,  I  would  take  your  life!  I  would 
kill  you  as  I  would  a  viper  beneath  my  feet!" 

The   young  man  shuddered. 

"Come,  Jane,"  he  said,  "love  me  a  little,  and  give  me 
a  kiss." 

"Will  you  promise  me?"  she  continued.  "Will  you 
swear  that  if  you  are  free,  you  will  marry  me?" 

"I  will  do  almost  anything  you  wish.  Now,  kiss  me. 
You  must  go  in.  It  is  growing  late;  besides,  it  is  deuced 
cold  out  here  on  these  sands,"  and  he  shivered. 

"Swear  it  to  me,  then!"  she  hissed,  with  clenched 
hands  and  bated  breath.  "Swear  that  if  you  are  free, 
you  will  marry  me!" 

"Yes;  I  swear  it!  Jane,  I  will  marry  you  if  I  am  free 
to  do  so." 

Jane  raised  her  face  and  they  kissed  each  other  pas- 
sionately. 

"And  if  you  do  not  keep  your  vow,  may  you  become 
like  a  dog  without  a  master;  may  you  starve  without 
shelter  in  the  streets;  may  you  be  kicked  by  every 
passerby;  may  your  carcass  remain  unburied  and  become 
a  stench  in  the  nostrils  of  the  people;  may—" 

"O  heavens!  Stop  that  tirade!  I  believe  I  am  sorry 
already  that  I  -made  such  a  promise.  Don't  go  on  like 
that.  If  you  do,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  not  keep  it.  But 


92  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

here  we  are  at  your  own  door.  Kiss  me  once  more;  and 
don't  be  so  much  in  earnest." 

"I  will  kiss  you,  but  if  you  trifle  with  me — remember!" 

She  kissed  him  and  disappeared  within  the  house. 

Mark,  looking  from  his  window,  could  not,  of  course, 
hear  anything  that  was  said.  He  simply  saw  them  em- 
brace and  kiss  each  other. 

Young  Chesterfield  hastened  toward  the  hotel  and  was 
soon  lost  to  view.  Mark  drew  the  curtains  with  a  heavy 
sigh. 

"I  cannot  change  the  career  of  that  young  man,"  said 
he,  "but  I  can  guide  my  own  footsteps  aright;"  then, 
turning  off  that  magical  fire,  he  retired  to  rest. 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  93 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
STRANGP:RS  FROM  NEW  YORK. 

The  young  millionaire  ascended  the  steps  of  the  hotel, 
muttering  to  himself: 

"Marry  you,  indeed!     Not  if  I  know  it." 

As  he  passed  through  the  office,  the  clerk  informed 
him  that  two  gentlemen  awaited  him  in  the  reception 
room;  and,  going  thither,  he  found  two  old  acquaintances 
from  New  York. 

"Ah!  How  do  you  do,  Merry?  And  you,  dear  old 
chum,  Alstain?  Have  been  expecting  you  for  some  time. 
Did  you  get  here  by  boat  or  train?" 

"Oh,  we  came  down  from  San  Francisco  on  the  boat. 
Much  the  pleasantest  way  of  traveling  in  this  part  of 
the  world,  you  know,"  answered  Merry. 

"Fine  hotel,  this,"  said  Alstain.  "Didn't  have  an  idea 
that  so  much  elegance  existed  this  side  of  New  York 
City.  Think  we  must  remain  here  for  a  week,  at  least." 

"O!  Can  you?  Will  you?  I  am  delighted!"  ex- 
claimed Chesterfield.  "It's  been  deuced  dull  here  for  the 
last  four  weeks.  It  drives  a  man  into  mischief.  What  is 
that  couplet  about  the  devil  finding  plenty  of  work  for 
idle  hands?  I  have  been  obliged  to  remain  here  in  order 
to  settle  up  that  mining  business.  Wish  I  could  sell  the 
whole  thing  out  for  a  couple  of  million,  or  so." 

"You  told  us  that  in  your  last  letter,  and  that  is  why 
we  are  here,"  said  Merry.  "I  am  come  to  represent  my 
father,  and  Alstain  would  like  to  make  some  investments 
for  himself." 

They  sauntered  out  into  the  office. 

"Can  you  give  these  gentlemen  some  nice  apartments 
near  mine?"  asked  Chesterfield,  of  the  clerk. 

"Yes,  I  have  two  fine  suites  on  the  same  corridor- 
doors  directly  opposite  your  own,"  and  he  gave  them  the 
keys. 

"We  will  make  it  a  regular  blow  out  tonight,"  said 
Chesterfield. 

"Go  and  make  yourselves  charming,  and  then  join  me 


94  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

in  my  apartments.  Lewis,"  be  continued,  turning  to  his 
valet,  "order  up  a  dozen  bottles  of  champagne,,  a  box  of 
best  cigars,  a  bottle  of  brandy,  a  siphon  of  soda,  some 
patti  de  froi  gras,  et  cetera,"  and  as  the  clock  struck 
midnight,  the  three  gentlemen  were  seated  at  the  table, 
in  Chesterfield's  parlor,  partaking  of  a  bountiful  midnight 
repast.  Anecdotes  and  jests  were  bandied  about,  many 
of  them  not  fit  to  be  recorded  here.  Then  cards  were  in- 
troduced, and  the  three  drank  champagne  and  gambled 
until  the  grey  dawn.  The  stakes  were  not  large,  for  the 
strangers  dared  not  venture  too  far. 

Merry  had  nothing  but  what  his  father  saw  fit  to  give 
him;  and  Alstain  lived,  mostly,  by  his  wits,  confidently 
expecting  to  amass  his  million  as  soon  as  an  opportunity 
presented  itself. 

When  the  lights  were  turned  off,  they  separated. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  Marcus  Chesterfield  had  lost 
but  one  dollar  and  a  half  during  the  night. 

Marcus  Chesterfield  reeled  into  his  bed  intoxicated  as 
Mark  Chester  was  rising  from  his  rested  and  refreshed, 
with  bright  eyes  and  ruddy  countenance.  He  plunged 
into  a  cold  bath;  then  dressing  himself  with  the  utmost 
care,  he  descended  to  the  breakfast  room.  Breakfast 
lasted  from  six  until  nine,  and  the  six  o'clock  bell  had 
just  rung.  Very  few  took  their  breakfasts  so  early.  One 
or  two  clerks,  a  few  brisk  business  men,  three  or  four 
young  girls — one  a  school-teacher  and  two  who  attended 
the  counter  of  the  principal  dry-goods  store  in  the  little 
town;  and  when  Mark's  bright,  clear  eyes  and  fresh  face 
appeared  among  them,  it  seemed  to  affect  them  like  a 
healthful  breeze.  Nods  and  glances  were  exchanged, 
knives  and  forks  clattered,  coffee,  boiled  eggs  and  toast 
disappeared. 

When  Mark  had  finished  his  breakfast,  he  went  back 
to  his  room,  exchanged  his  nice  clothes  for  those  which 
Kester  had  loaned  him,  then,  covering  all  with  a  long, 
light  ulster,  that  he  might  appear  decently  while  on  his 
way  to  the  beach,  he  took  the  path  which  led  down  to 
Kester  and  Molly. 

"Hello,  pardner!"  called  Kester.  "E're  airly,  an'  no 
mistake.  Haint  finished  my  coffee  yit,  an'  thet  thar 
sun's  lazy.  See;  he's  jest  pintiu'  one  finger  over  yender 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  95 

mounting.  Look  now,  he's  pekin'  over  it  hissolf.  Pears 
like  he's  a  wigglin'  his  fingers  agin  his  nose,  a  latiu  at 
us,  an'  a  askin'  on  us,  'How  many  yaller-tails  air  ye  a 
goin'  ter  catch  ter  day?" 

"Good  morning,  Uncle  Kester,"  said  Mark.  "This  is 
my  first  day,  and  I  think  we  shall  catch  a  good  many. 
Dear  old  dad!  I  must  call  you  dad  some  of  the  time,  for 
you  have  been  kinder  to  me  than  many  fathers  would 
have  been  to  their  sons." 

"O,  wall,  call  me  anythin'  yer  like,  'cep  bein'  late  ter 
fishin'.  Look  at  Molly  thar.  She's  a  dancin'  with  ex- 
pectation, as  sure  as  yer  live.  That  thar  big  wave  's  jest 
reached  her  stern.  Lend  a  hand  thar,  pardner,  an*  we'll 
slide  her  afloat.  She's  mor'n  willin'." 

Mark  took  off  his  ulster,  folded  it  carefully,  and  put 
it  out  of  harm's  way  on  the  old  man's  bed.  He  went  to 
work  with  a  will,  and  in  five  minutes  Molly  and  her  oc- 
cupants were  dancing  on  the  waves  of -the  Pacific.  Mark 
rowed  and  the  old  man  steered,  and  by  the  time  they 
had  reached  Kester's  favorite  fishing  ground,  the  sun 
had  lifted  his  chin  above  the  mountains  and  was  smiling 
broadly  at  them,  as  they  cast  anchor.  They  both 
worked  like  beavers  all  day,  and  hauled  Molly  up  on  the 
beach,  high  and  dry,  just  in  the  gloaming. 

Mark  built  a  fire.  The  coffee  was  made,  the  fish 
broiled,  the  brown  bread  and  beans — the  Yankee's  de- 
light— were  brought  forth.  A  Chinaman's  vegetable  cart 
usually  passed  there  at  this  hour,  and  he  readily  ex- 
changed a  few  vegetables  for  a  small  fish  or  two.  More- 
over, they  were  well  supplied  with  eggs;  for  many  of  the 
poor  women  at  the  settlement  of  tents  and  shanties  were 
glad  to  exchange  eggs  and  poultry  for  fish;  and  now  they 
partook  heartily  of  a  good  dinner. 

Mark  had  already  come  to  the  conclusion  that  meat 
was  not  necessary  in  this  Southern  climate — and,  in  fact, 
the  less  meat  one  eats  in  Southern  California  the  better. 
When  they  had  finished  their  dinner,  they  cleaned  and 
weighed  the  fish  and  found  they  had  twenty  dollars' 
worth. 

"Gewhiteker!"  exclaimed  Nathan.  "Pardner,  you 
bring  good  luck.  Ten  dollars  apiece — sure  as  yer  live!. 
Whew!  Golly!  If  we  go  on  like  thet,  we'll  git  rich." 


96  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

Their  work  was  not  entirely  finished  until  nearly  ten 
o'clock,  then  Mark  put  on  his  ulster  and  went  to  the 
hotel. 

"Ah,  little  diary,"  he  said  as  he  entered  his  room, 
"there  you  are,  and  I  will  make  my  entry  at  once. 
'January  2,  1899.  First  day  out.  Have  earned  ten  dol- 
lars.' Not  so  bad  that.  Feel  quite  weary,  still  I  should 
like  to  read  from  some  good  book  for  about  an  hour. 
Must  find  out  if  there  is  a  Public  Library  in  town;  but 
as  I  have  no  book,  think  I  will  commence  to  write  one 
myself.  No  paper?  Well,  now  I  think  of  it,  I  saw  a  lot 
of  nice,  manilla  wrapping  paper,  together  with  paper 
bags  of  large  size,  in  the  dust  barrel  as  I  came  through 
the  small  back  hall-way.  I  will  go  down  and  make  a 
raid;"  and,  suiting  his  actions  to  his  words,  he  descended 
the  stairs  and  gathered  from  the  aforesaid  dust  barrel 
an  armful  of  waste  paper;  returning  to  his  own  pleasant 
room,  he  cut  the  paper  into  the  required  sheets  and 
wrote  busily  until  eleven  o'clock;  then,  going  to  the  win- 
dow, he  looked  out. 

"Good  night,  Uncle  Kester  and  Molly,"  he  said.  "I 
think  the  good  old  man  is  asleep  by  this  time."  Turning, 
he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  Morton  House.  "Good 
night,  sweet,  sorrowful  Isabel.  I  do  not  see  a  light  from 
your  window,  so  I  conclude  you  are  asleep  also.  May 
kind  and  loving  angels  watch  over  you.  And  you,  Jane 
Erie;  what  of  you?  There  is  no  light  at  the  little  brown 
cottage,  and  you  are  not  straying  tonight  with  a  false- 
hearted man.  Heaven  guard  and  keep  you  in  the  right 
path." 

Then  Mark  retired  to  sleep  soundly,  as  healthful  youth 
ever  does  when  its  aims  are  honorable  and  its  conscience 
clear. 

***** 

Marcus  Chesterfield  arose  at  three  in  the  afternoon. 
He  did  not  feel  refreshed;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  ex- 
hausted and  feverish.  He  could  not  have  been  half  as 
weary  if  he  had  worked  at  some  kind  of  manual  labor  for 
sixteen  hours  on  a  stretch. 

His  eyes  were  sunken  with  heavy  black  circles  beneath 
them.  He  could  scarcely  stand  upright,  and  it  would 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  97 

have  been  impossible  for  him  to  speak  pleasantly  to  any- 
one. 

"Here,  Lewis!  Get  me  into  my  clothes,  will  you?  but 
ring,  first,  and  have  some  coffee  sent  up  directly!  I  am 
not  equal  to  the  exertion  of  being  dressed  until  I  have 
had  a  cup  of  coffee." 

And  he  sank  back  upon  the  bed  again. 

"Hurry  up,  will  you!  You're  as  slow  as  a  snail! 
What  have  you  been  doing  all  the  morning,  you  lazy 
Jackanapes?" 

"I  can't  be  up  at  all  times  of  night  and  work  all  day 
besides,"  replied  Lewis,  with  a  yawn.  "I  have  not  been 
up  long,  myself.  It  was  daylight  before  we  got  to  bed, 
sir — but  here  is  your  coffee,  sir.  You  will  feel  better 
when  you  have  taken  it." 

Marcus  sipped  a  little  from  the  cup. 

"Zounds,  fellow!  Why  did  you  not  put  cream  and 
sugar  into  it?" 

"Oh,  sir,  believe  me,  sir,  it  is  better  to  take  it  black, 
and  strong,  when  you  are  weak  and  ill." 

"Ill— ill?  I  am  not  ill.  What  should  make  me  ill,  I 
should  like  to  know?  Can't  a  man  drink  a  few  glasses 
of  champagne  without  being  ill?" 

He  gulped  down  a  cup  of  the  black,  strong  coffee.  This 
revived  him  somewhat. 

"Put  me  into  my  bath,  Lewis.  No  doubt  I  shall  be 
all  right  as  soon  as  I  am  dressed.  Then  order  the  best 
breakfast  the  house  can  afford.  At  the  same  time  tell 
the  coachman  to  have  the  horses  ready.  I  shall  take  a 
long  drive.  Also  see  if  my  friends  are  up.  If  so,  ask 
them  to  step  here  a  moment — or,  wait,  I  will  write." 

He  hurriedly  dashed  off  a  note  of  invitation,  asking 
them  to  accompany  him  in  his  carriage  for  a  good  ten- 
mile  drive,  at  least. 

Lewis  brought  back  the  reply,  that  they  would  only  be 
too  glad  of  the  opportunity. 

After  his  bath  and  breakfast  the  young  millionaire 
pulled  himself  together,  with  the  aid  of  brandy  and  soda, 
and  by  the  time  the  three  gentlemen  were  ready  to  step 
into  the  carriage,  Marcus  felt  quite  like  himself  again. 
Still  his  youthful  face  wore  a  jaded  look.  Dissipation 


98  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

always  leaves  its  mark,  and  idleness  weakens  the  consti- 
tution as  well  as  the  mind. 

Marcus  ordered  the  horses  put  to  their  utmost  speed, 
and  when  the  party  returned  to  the  hotel,  just  in  time 
for  dinner,  the  poor  horses  were  white  with  foam. 

"They'll  not  stand  this  sort  of  driving,"  remonstrated 
the  coachman. 

"What  is  that  to  you!"  thundered  Marcus.  "There  are 
plenty  of  other  horses  to  be  had  for  a  mere  song.  Horses 
'are  cheap  in  this  part  of  the  world,"  he  remarked,  turn- 
ing to  his  companions,  "consequently,  I  propose  to  drive 
as  fast  as  I  please." 


A   MILL,   AND   A    MILLION. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    FATAL   APPOINTMENT 

Of  course,  Marcus  Chesterfield  felt  that  he  must  enter- 
tain his  friends;  so  a  couple  of  other  young  men,  who 
were  staying  at  the  hotel,  were  invited  to  spend  the 
evening  in  the  young  man's  apartments,  and  be  intro- 
duced to  the  strangers  from  New  York.  After  dinner, 
before  retiring  within  doors,  all  five  were  seated  on  the 
veranda,  smoking,  laughing,  and  jesting.  A  young  lady 
came  clown  the  road,  from  town;  a  graceful,  queenly 
looking  girl.  She  flashed  a  brilliant  glance  at  young 
Chesterfield,  as  she  passed,  and  bowed. 

"Jane  Erie,  as  I  live,"  said  Marcus,  under  his  breath. 
"Ughl  How  her  eyes  go  through  a  fellow!" 

"Thai  was  a  handsome  girl,"  said  Alstain,  perceiving 
that  she  was  not  unknown  to  the  young  millionaire. 
"Too  handsome,  altogether,  for  a  village  maid.  Such 
beauty  as  that  is  buried  here  in  this  out  of  the  way 
place." 

"Who  is  she?"   asked   Merry. 

"Oh,  simply  a  nobody,"  sneered  Marcus.  "She  lives 
with  her  mother,  and  they  starve  the  most  of  the  time, 
so  I  have  heard.  The  old  lady  takes  in  sewing,  when 
she  can  got  it  to  do;  but  I  imagine  the  girl  is  laying  her 
net  to  snare  some  grand  eagle,  or  other." 

Then  the  five  young  men  joked  each  other  about 
women,  slyly  jesting  Marcus  about  the  young  woman 
who  had  just  passed.  He  did  not  resent  it,  but  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  it  with  enjoyment  and  laughter. 

We  will  not  record  the  disgraceful  innuendoes  and  sly 
jokes  which  passed  between  these  idle  young  men — 
words  and  meanings  which  should  forever  have  dis- 
graced them  in  the  eyes  of  all  well  meaning  people;  but 
nothing  more  than  what  passes  between  such  young 
gentlemen  in  all  places  where  they  congregate. 

No  man,  who  is  a  true  gentleman,  will  ever  speak  of 
any  woman  as  he  would  not  speak  of  his  mother  or 
sister. 


100  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

The  evenings  are  very  chill  in  Southern  California  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  although  the  sun  shines  hotly  at 
midday,  and  the  young  gentlemen  repaired  to  Chester- 
field's room.  Another  dozen  bottles  of  champagne  were 
ordered,  another  costly  lunch  was  sent  up  for  five— the 
very  costliest  that  the  house  could  furnish — cards  were 
again  resorted  to,  and  by  eleven  o'clock,  the  time  Mark 
Chester  laid  his  weary  head  on  his  pillow,  they  were 
drinking  and  gambling  to  their  heart's  content,  keeping 
it  up  until  the  gray  dawn,  and  reeling  to  bed  as 
on  yestermorn,  but  this  time,  Marcus  had  lost  ten  dol- 
lars. This,  to  him,  was  of  course  a  trifle  not  to  be  con- 
sidered, but  ten  dollars  would  have  made  some  starving, 
suffering  fellow  creature  comfortable;  and  one  could 
easily  hurl  a  stone  from  the  hotel  into  that  settlement 
before  mentioned,  where  many  were  gaunt  with  hunger. 
*  *  *  *  * 

Jane  Erie  knew  very  well  that  the  promise  of  mar- 
riage had  been  extorted  by  herself  from  the  young  mil- 
lionaire; nevertheless,  it  was  a  promise,  although  but  a 
verbal  one.  She  desired  a  written  agreement — something 
that  she  could  make  use  of  in  case  Marcus  should  not 
be  inclined  to  keep  his  promise. 

She  sat  now,  in  her  own  little  room,  meditating,  her 
face  wearing  an  intent  but  far-away  look.  Her  hands 
were  tightly  clenched,  for  her  thoughts  were  extremely 
exasperating. 

"I  must  have  letters  from  him,"  she  mused,  "love  let- 
ters. I  must,  also,  have  written  promises  of  marriage; 
for  if  he  were,  by  any  means,  to  marry  Isabel — if  I  fail 
to  break  up  the  match — then  I  must  have  evidence 
enough  to  convict  him  for  breach  of  promise  of  mar- 
riage. I  will  sue  him  for  a  large  sum  of  money  and  take 
all  that  the  law  will  allow  me.  There  is  an  excellent 
lawyer  in  this  town,  if  it  is  small,  and  many  a  land- 
holder, around  here,  has  lost  all  his  property  by  the  aid 
of  the  Law,  through  this  precious  rascal.  He  will  only 
be  too  glad  to  get  a  chance  at  Marcus  Chesterfield  and 
his  millions.  To  be  sure,  I  am  well  aware  that  he  would 
take  the  lion's  share,  still,  there  would  be  something  left 
for  me.  Jane  Erie  will  never  remain  in  poverty  while 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  101 

there  are  rich  men  in  the  world.  Marcus  thinks  I  am  a 
poor  little  fool,  whom  he  can  easily  persuade." 

Her  eyes  flashed  at  the  thought. 

"Men  think  all  women  are  soft  fools,  who  ought  to 
adore  and  pay  them  homage;  but  Chesterfield  shall  find 
one  woman  in  the  world  whom  he  cannot  bend  or  break; 
one  woman  in  the  world,  who  will  compel  him  to  do  her 
homage.  He  shall  yet  sue  for  my  hand,  in  honorable 
marriage,  on  bended  knee;  he  shall  yet  throw  his  mil- 
lions at  my  feet,  and  I  will  spurn  him  and  them — or 
appear  to  do  so. 

"Love  him?  I  detest  him!  I  do  not  believe  there  is  a 
man  living  who  could  inspire  me  with  the  grand  pas- 
sion; if  so,  I  have  not  yet  seen  him.  Ah!  Mr.  Chester- 
field, it  is  your  money  I  want,  not  yourself  particularly; 
but,  of  course,  the  way  to  get  your  money  is  through 
yourself.  Money  I  will  have  or  die!  But  I  will  not  die. 
I  was  born  into  this  world  to  live,  not  die;  and  I  am 
determined  to  live.  I  know  there  is  a  future  life.  No 
one  can  understand  this  better  than  myself;  for  have  I 
not  the  power  of  seeing  and  conversing  with  the  denizens 
of  another  world?  But  I  desire  to  live  in  this  world,  at 
all  hazards,  for  many  years  to  come;  and  I  will  not 
lead  a  miserable,  poverty-stricken  life.  To  be  rich,  and 
consequently  happy,  requires  nothing  more  than  the 
exercise  of  the  will.  The  human  will  is  superior  to  all 
mundane  things,  and  those  who  have  strong  wills  con- 
quer those  who  possess  weaker  ones.  The  only  way  to 
strengthen  the  will  is  by  the  exercise  of  it,  just  as  the 
muscles  of  the  body  are  strengthened  by  the  using  of 
them.  I  do  not  wish  to  leave  this  town;  and,  if  I  did, 
I  have  not  the  means  to  do  so,  now.  Ah!  I  have  it!  I 
saw  strange  gentlemen  with  him  this  evening.  That 
means  but  one  thing.  They  are  all  going  up  to  the 
mines.  I  must  find  out  how  long  they  are  to  remain 
there.  I  must  see  Marcus  again.  He  must  write  me 
many  letters  while  he  is  away,  and  there  must  be  a 
written  proposal  of  marriage  in  one,  or  more,  of  them. 
Yes,  I  must  see  him  this  very  evening;  otherwise,  all 
may  be  lost.  But  how  am  I  to  make  sure  of  this? 
There  is  but  one  way.  I  must  send  him  a  note,  asking 
for  an  interview.  After  what  has  passed  between  us,  it 


102  MARK    CHESTER:     OR 

will  be  perfectly  proper  to  do  so.  Still,  I  care  very 
little  for  the  proprieties.  My  own  will  is  queen.  The 
proprieties  are  prudes  and  handmaidens  to  be  made  use 
of  if  one  needs  them.  I  shall  never  make  myself  a  slave 
to  the  proprieties." 

She   went  to  a  small  table  and  dashed  off  a  note. 

"Dearest  Marcus:  Please  meet  me  this  evening  at 
eight  o'clock,  at  the  lonely  old  bench  on  the  beach,  where 
we  plighted  our  troth.  I  have  something  of  great  im- 
portance to  say  to  you.  Do  not  fail  to  be  there,  for  I 
have  been  considering,  deeply,  the  proposals  which  you 
then  made  to  me." 

"That  will  be  sure  to  fetch  him,  I  think.  He  will  im- 
agine that  I  have  concluded  to  look  with  a  favorable 
eye  on  the  proposals  he  made  to  me.  Bah!  How  dis- 
gusting! On  the  contrary,  it  fills  my  soul  with  hatred 
and  loathing. 

"He  takes  me  for  a  soft  fool,  captivated  by  his  hand- 
some personality,  his  distinguished  appearance.  Why, 
that  tall  young  fisherman,  who  has  lately  associated 
himself  with  old  Kester,  that  young  man  who  looks  so 
much  like  Marcus  Chesterfield,  that  poor  boy  who  prob- 
ably has  not  a  cent  in  the  world,  that  cleaner  of  fish, 
with  his  bright,  clear  eyes,  his  ruddy,  healthful  cheeks, 
his  tall,  straight  form,  his  powerful  arm  and  muscles  of 
steel— for  they  must  be  as  strong  as  steel,  else  he  could 
not  row  a  boat  as  he  does — that  tall,  straight  young 
man,  who  seems  to  look  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left, 
and  yet  is  so  genial  and  polite  to  all  whom  he  meets, 
is  a  thousand  times  more  attractive  to  my  eyes  than 
the  rich  and  dissipated  Marcus  Chesterfield.  I  am  ca- 
pable of  loving  that  young  fisherman  with  all  my  heart, 
but  to  marry  him  would  be  entirely  out  of  the  question. 
It  certainly  would  be  impossible  not  to  admire  him,  and, 
really,  I  should  like  to  gain  his  love.  Suppose  I  have 
two  or  three  lovers?  What  of  it?  They  might  be  of 
service  to  me.  A  young  girl  has  a  right  to  be  a  coquette 
if  she  pleases,  and  as  for  broken  hearts,  I  believe  men 
are  devoid  in  that  respect,  they  have  no  hearts  to  break. 
It  is  the  heart  that  is  missing  in  a  man,  and  not  the  rib. 
Well,  heigh-ho!  I  must  go  and  mail  my  note  or  he  may 
not  get  it  in  time." 


A    MILL    AND    A   MILLION.  103 

She  donned  her  walking  attire  and  took  her  way  up 
the  little  path  toward  the  town,  and  the  note  was  soon 
on  its  way  to  the  hotel,  within  the  pouch  of  the  mail 
carrier.  The  note  was  handed  to  Marcus  just  after  din- 
ner; and  it  was  fortunate  for  Jane  Erie  that  he  received 
it  on  this  day,  for  on  the  morrow  he  was  to  diue  and 
spend  the  evening  at  the  Morton  house. 

He  also  had  sent  a  note  to  Mrs.  Morton,  begging  to 
be  allowed  to  bring  his  friends,  as  he  greatly  desired  to 
make  them  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Morton  and  Isabel. 

He  had  received  a  cordial  invitation  for  his  friends 
somewhat  earlier  in  the  afternoon,  and  they  were  all  to 
remain  and  play  whist  in  the  evening. 

Marcus  read  Jane's  note,  and  a  wily  look  darted  from 
his  eyes. 

"Fortunate  for  you,  my  young  lady,  that  I  got  your 
note  in  time,  else  you  would  not  have  had  the  pleasure 
of  my  company.  Well,  it's  all  right.  I  think  she  has, 
probably,  concluded  to  do  as  I  wish.  I  have  a  year's 
grace  and  much  can  be  enjoyed  within  a  year's  time.  I 
shall,  no  doubt,  be  weary  of  Miss  Erie  by  that  time  or 
before;  and,  even  if  she  should  cling  to  me,  I  can  conceal 
her  in  Los  Angeles.  She  might,  possibly,  threaten  to 
inform  Isabel  but  plenty  of  money  will  buy  her  silence, 
no  doubt;  and,  even  if  it  could  not,  young  men  are  ex- 
pected to  sow  some  wild  oats. 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  A  saying  occurred 
to  him  and  it  was  this: 

"As  ye  sow,  so  shall  ye  reap.  Sow  to  the  wind  and 
reap  the  whirlwind."  A  thought  flashed  through  his 
mind:  "Would  Jane  Erie  prove  to  be  the  whirlwind 
that  he  would  reap?  Well,  perhaps  so.  She  certainly 
was  rather  breezy,  even  now.  Well,  a  man  must  enjoy 
his  life  in  some  way,  especially  when  he  has  plenty  of 
money  wherewith  to  gratify  his  desires." 

He  excused  himself  to  his  friends,  saying  he  had  a 
former  engagement  for  the  evening;  and  shortly  before 
eight  o'clock,  he  sauntered  forth  to  keep  the  appoint- 
ment. 


104  MARK  CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE    RELUCTANT   PROMISE  . 

Mark  and  the  old  fisherman  did  not  meet  with  the 
same  success  every  day.  There  were  many  days 
when  the  fish  refused  to  bite.  There  were  days  when 
they  were  shy  and  few  were  taken.  Today  had  been 
one  of  their  shy  days,  and  about  half  as  many  as  usual 
had  been  caught.  It  had  been  some  hours,  now,  since 
they  had  felt  a  bite,  and  the  old  man  said: 

"I  think,  pardner,  we  hed  better  go  in  shore.  Them 
thar  yaller-tails  '11  bite  no  more  ternight.  I  know  thar 
ways  fur  sartin.  They  air  as  shy  an'  coy  today  as  a 
young  maid — as  Molly  wus  now,  fur  instance,  long  'bout 
the  time  I  fust  seed  her.  You  wouldn't  a  thought  she'd 
ever  a  cared  fur  me  then,  but  I  jest  let  her  hev  her  own 
way,  an'  thet's  jest  what  we'd  better  dew  with  this  'ere 
fish— jest  let  um  hev  thar  own  way.  They'll  bite  all  the 
better  termorrer." 

So  it  happened  that  Molly  was  drawn  up  on  the  beach, 
and  Mark  and  Kester  were  just  eating  their  dinner, 
when  Marcus  sauntered  down  toward  the  lone  bench 
where  Mark  had  sat  on  the  evening  of  his  arrival  at 
Redondo. 

"Hush!  Whew!"  muttered  old  Kester,  setting  down 
his  coffee-cup.  "Ef  thet  thar  hain't  thet  air  millioner — 
thet  thar  yung  Chesterfield — Marcus,  his  name  is,  an'  it's 
kinder  funny,  too,  thet  he  looks  like  you,  an'  his  name 
is  like  yourn,  too.  Mark  Chester  an'  Marcus  Chesterfield 
air  somewhat  alike,  ain't  they?" 

"Simply  a  coincidence,"  replied  Mark  in  a  low  voice; 
"but,  look  yonder.  Is  not  that  the  form  of  a  woman 
coming  from  the  little  brown  cottage?" 

"  'Tis,  as  sure  as  yer  live,  an'  it's  Jane — Jane  Erie. 
Thet  thar  gal  'd  better  look  out  fur  herself.  Millioners 
don't  mean  no  good  ter  such  gals  as  Jane  Erie.  They 
jest  fish  arter  them  to  destroy  them." 

"Did  you  not  tell  me  that  the  young  man  was  be- 
trothed to  Miss  Morton?" 


A    MILL    AND   A   MILLION.  105 

"Well,  thet's  what  everybody  sez  'round  here— more- 
over, I  see  a  item  ter  that  effect  in  this  mornin's  Re- 
dondo  News.  Guess  it's  true  enough." 

"Then  by  what  right  does  he  meet  Jane  Erie  out  here 
on  the  sands,  after  dark,  when  the  beach  is  sure  to  be 
lonely  and  deserted?  Besides,  they  were  together  here 
at  eleven  o'clock,  a  few  evenings  since,  and  I  saw  him 
kiss  her  more  than  once." 

"Her  mother  ought  ter  know  on't,"  said  the  old  man 
sorrowfully.  "Think  I'll  gwup  thar,  arter  we  git 
through  here,  an'  hev  a  talk  with  her." 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  go  now,  uncle — as  soon  as 
you  finish  your  dinner.  I  will  see  to  the  fish  and  put  all 
things  to  rights,  and  will  stay  here  until  your  return." 

"Wall,  I'll  go;  but  I  don't  think  it'll  do  much  good. 
Thet  gal  hes  it  all  her  own  way.  She's  a  tarnal  sight 
smarter  then  her  mother  ever  wus,  but  I  am  afeard  it's 
in  the  wrong  direction.  Howsumever,  I'll  gwup  an* 
hev  a  good  talk— an',  no  doubt,  Mrs.  Erie  will  like  a  fish, 
fur  she  hes  more'n  she  can  do,  sometimes,  ter  keep  ther 
wolf  frum  the  door." 

Mr.  Kester  selected  a  very  fine  fish,  then  making  him- 
self a  little  more  presentable,  he  immediately  started 
for  the  cottage.  Jane  Erie,  by  this  time,  was  seated  on 
the  bench  beside  Marcus  Chesterfield.  She  had  greeted 
her  lover  with  a  fond  kiss,  for  lover  he  should  be,  what- 
ever happened.  Marcus  found  it  impossibe  to  resist  her 
blandishments,  and  winding  his  arm  about  her,  they 
strolled  farther  away  into  the  darkness.  They  had  both 
perceived  the  boat  and  the  small  fire  near  it,  also  the 
dim  outlines  of  the  two  fishermen.  Not  that  Marcus 
Chesterfield  cared  for  a  couple  of  low  fishermen — "coarse, 
ignorant  beasts,"  he  called  them,— but,  still,  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  be  quite  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 

***** 

"Well,  Jane,"  he  said,  when  they  were  safe  out  into 
the  darkness,  "you  have,  no  doubt,  concluded  to  be  rea- 
sonable, and  are  thinking  more  favorably  of  the  proposal 
which  I  made  to  yon  the  last  time  we  met." 

Miss  Erie  did  not  make  a  direct  reply  to  this,  but 
asked,  instead: 

"You  are  going  to  the  mines,  shortly,  are  you  not?" 


106  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Yes;  but  I  shall  soon  return,  and  I  have  time,  before 
going,  to  settle  you  in  Los  Angeles,  in  comfort  and  afflu- 
ence." 

"How  about  my  mother?"  asked  Jane. 

"Your  mother?  Ah!  I  had  not  thought  of  her.  Could 
she  not  go  with  you?" 

"If  I  were  married,  certainly,  yes." 

"But,  dear,  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  marry  at  pres- 
ent." 

"If  I  were  to  take  my  mother  to  Los  Angeles,  and  live 
in  affluence,  she  would  ask  me  how  I  became  possessed 
of  such  means.  What  reply  could  I  make?" 

Marcus  was  silent. 

"My  mother  would  starve  before  she  would  live  in  af- 
fluence obtained  through  the  dishonor  of  her  child — her 
only  child.  My  mother  loves  me,  although  I  am  not  all 
that  a  mother  could  desire  in  a  daughter." 

"Well,  then,   why  not  go  without  your  mother?" 

"Shall  I  desert  the  mother  who  has  toiled  for  me  for 
many  years?  Shall  I  leave  her  desolate  and  dishonored 
in  her  old  age?  Marcus  Chesterfield,  I  am  wicked  and 
weirdly  strange,  and  do  not  help  my  mother  as  I  ought. 
All  this  I  know;  but  I  am  not  yet  so  vile  and  sinful  as 
to  desert  my  mother  and  plunge  myself  into  a  whirlpool 
of  gilded  vice  and  consequent  misery-  No,  not  quite  so 
bad  as  that  yet,  thank  God.  No;  I  will  remain  here  and 
try  to  help  and  please  my  mother  more  than  I  have  in 
the  past.  But,  Marcus,  dear,  as  we  are  now  promised 
to  each  other,  will  you  not  write  to  me  every  day  while 
you  are  away?" 

"Dearest  Jane,  cannot  I  induce  you  to  change  your 
mind?  It  will  be  far  easier  for  your  mother  to  take 
care  of  herself  than  to  provide  for  two.  You  really  ought 
not  to  be  a  burden  to  your  mother  longer.  You  are  fully 
eighteen  years  of  age,  are  you  not?" 

"Yes;  I  am  somewhat  past  eighteen — in  my  nineteenth 
year." 

"Old  enough  to  do  as  you  please." 

"Yes;  and  I  do  very  much  as  I  please.  I  have  been  a 
very  thankless,  headstrong  girl,  thus  far;  but  my  mother 
has  been  most  loving  and  patient  with  me,  and,  at  last, 
it  begins  to  tell  on  my  wayward  and  stubborn  disposi- 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  107 

tion.  Oh,  I  would  that  I  were  naturally  as  good  as  my 
mother;  but,  I  am  the  daughter  of  my  father,  and  he 
was  not  a  good  man.  Do  you  know,  Marcus,  that  the 
two  natures  within  me  are  constantly  at  war,  making  my 
life  miserable?  The  union  between  my  father  and  mother 
was  not  a  happy  one.  He  deserted  her,  many  years  ago, 
as,  perhaps,  you  have  heard;  and  he  treated  her  badly 
the  few  years  of  their  married  life.  Sometimes  my 
mother's  nature  predominates  in  me;  but,  oftener,  that 
of  my  father.  O,  Marcus,  would  that  I  had  been  born 
good." 

"Why,  you  are  good  enough,  are  you  not?  Too  good, 
it  seems,  to  yield  to  my  wishes;  and  yet,  I  do  not  think 
you  would  be  bad  to  do  as  1  desire." 

"Marcus  Chesterfield,  I  have  no  wish  to  become  a  toy, 
but  a  queen,  before  whom  the  world  will  bow  down  in 
adoration;  a  toy  is  soon  cast  aside  as  worthless,  but  I 
must  wear  a  crown — but,  promise  me,  dear,  that  you 
will  write  to  me  every  day  while  you  are  away." 

"I  suppose  I  must  promise,  then,  if  I  cannot  persuade 
you  to  go  to  Los  Angeles  with  me;  I  am  sure,  Jane,  that 
you  will  regret  not  doing  so." 

"I  should  regret  it,  for  the  remainder  of  my  life,  if  1 
were  to  do  so.  Then  I  have  your  promise,  dear  Marcus, 
that  you  will  write  to  me?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  must;  but  I  cannot  see  what  good 
it  will  do.  I  shall  not  remain  away  long,  and  writing 
letters  is  a  bore;  still,  if  you  insist,  I  suppose  I  must." 

Marcus  now  began  to  make  passionate  love  to  Miss 
Erie,  but  this  we  will  not  record,  for  it  was  not  the 
pure,  unselfish  love  of  a  generous  heart — it  was  not  the 
love  which  a  man  feels  for  the  woman  he  would  marry. 
Marcus  Chesterfield  was  not  capable  of  a  pure,  unselfish 
love.  Even  the  love  which  he  would  offer  to  the  woman 
whom  he  might  wish  to  marry  would  not  be  much  bet- 
ter, the  distinction  would  be,  simply,  that  one  he  might 
consider  high  enough  in  the  social  scale,  the  other,  too 
low.  His  love  would  not  be  pure  in  either  case,  and, 
even  at  this  moment,  his  love,  or,  rather,  passion,  was 
stronger  for  Jane  Erie  than  it  was  for  Isabel  Morton. 


108  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

LOVE   IN   A   COTTAGE. 

The  old  fisherman  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  little 
brown  cottage.  Mrs.  Erie  opened  the  door.  She  looked 
pale,  worn  and  troubled. 

"Ah!  Good  evening,  Mr.  Kester,"  she  said.  "I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you.  Walk  in." 

Nathaniel  stepped  into  the  room. 

"Wall,  now,  marm,"  said  he,  "how-de-dew,  this  'ere 
evening?  I  hope  yer  find  yerself  well  an'  comferterble 
like?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Kester,  I  am  quite  well,  for  me,  thank  you." 

The  old  fisherman  walked  to  the  sink,  within  the  little 
kitchen,  which  joined  itself  to  the  room  he  had  entered, 
and  laid  the  fish  on  the  cold  zink;  then,  he  took  off  his 
overcoat  and  hung  it  on  a  peg  nearby,  together  with  his 
hat.  Mrs.  Erie  looked  at  him,  the  while,  with  a  pensive 
smile.  Having  done  so,  he  stepped  softly  back  into  the 
room.  Mrs.  Erie  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

"How  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Kester— how  very  kind!  I  can 
never  thank  you  enough!  Come  and  take  a  seat  in  this 
large  arm-chair.  You  must  be  very  weary,  sitting  in 
that  uncomfortable  boat  all  day." 

Nathaniel  sank  into  the  chair  with  a  sigh  of  content- 
ment, his  countenance  beaming  benevolently. 

There  was  a  small  fireplace  in  the  room,  wherein 
smouldered  a  few  embers,  but  the  evening  was  growing 
chill,  and  Mrs.  Erie  placed  one  or  two  fagots  upon  the 
fire  and  a  cheerful  blaze  leaped  forth.  The  arm-chair 
was  in  the  most  comfortable  corner  of  the  chimney-piece. 
Uncle  Kester  rubbed  his  hands  softly  together.  How 
cheerful  and  homelike  the  room  looked,  although  the  fur- 
niture was  mean  and  no  carpet  covered  the  floor. 

A  small  table  stood  near,  with  a  shaded  lamp  upon  it. 
Mrs.  Erie  took  a  seat  by  the  table  and  commenced  to 
stitch,  stitch,  stitch.  Her  face  was  pale,  her  shoulders 
drooped,  a  look  of  sorrowful,  patient  resignation  rested 
upon  her  features.  She  could  not  have  been  more  than 
forty  years  of  age.  Her  forehead  was  well  developed, 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  109 

the  thin  hair,  rapidly  growing  gray,  combed  smoothly 
back  of  the  small,  delicate  ears.  She  had  deep-set  gray- 
blue  eyes,  but  there  were  circles  of  weariness  beneath 
them.  The  mouth  was  small,  the  lips  firm  but  very 
sweet;  the  only  color  about  the  face  being  in  those  sensi- 
tive lips.  Altogether,  her  appearance  was  that  of  a  deli- 
cate, high-toned,  sensitive,  loviug  woman,  who  was  suf- 
fering under  the  iron  hand  of  poverty,  patient  and  re- 
signed to  her  fate.  Uncle  Kester's  eyes  rested  upon  her 
tenderly,  pityingly. 

"Wall,  now,  marm,"  said  he,  "jest  you  set  up  nearer 
the  fire  here,  an'  give  yerself  a  rest.  I  wants  ter  talk 
with  yer  fur  a  little  while.  Yer  jest  let  me  gin  yer  this 
'ere  five  dollars  fur  yer  time,  fur  I  can't  expect  yer  ter 
gin  me  yer  precious  time  fur  nothin'." 

Mrs.  Erie  laid  down  her  work,  but  repudiated  the 
money. 

"No,  no!  Mr.  Kester,"  she  said,  "I  cannot  accept 
money  from  any  one,  although  I  am  very  grateful  to  you 
for  the  fish.  You  earn  your  money  very  hardly,  and  why 
should  I  not  work  as  well  as  you?" 

"Wall,  marm,  es  fer  thet  marter,  you  do  double  or 
treble  work.  Ter  take  care  o'  this  little  house  is  all  ther 
wurk  yer  ought  ter  dew,  while  someone  else  aims  ther 
wherewithal.  Now  look  a  here,  marm;  yer  jest  take  this 
'ere  five  dollars,  fur  I  want  ter  hev  sum  wurk  dun.  I 
am  greatly  in  need  of  a  couple  o'  flannel  shirts,  an'  I 
can't  make  them  thar  shirts.  I  couldn't  bring  in  ther 
flannel  ternight,  but  I'll  send  it  ter  yee  airly  in  ther 
mornin',  an'  yer  must  take  ther  money  now,  marm,  fur 
I  may  not  be  able  ter  cum  ter  see  yer  agin  fur  a  long 
time." 

Mrs.  Erie  gave  him  a  penetrating  glance;  but  as  he 
looked  as  if  he  were  in  earnest,  she  gladly  took  the 
money.  She  needed  it  badly,  for  Jane  and  herself  had 
both  felt  the  gnawing  of  hunger  of  late,  and  the  rent 
was  due. 

Uncle  Kester's  eyes  twinkled  delightedly  as  Mrs.  Erie 
folded  up  her  work;  then  she  drew  her  chair  a  little 
nearer  the  fire  and  sat  gazing  into  it  abstractedly. 

"Wall,  now,  marm,  thet's  more  comfortable  like,"  and 
he  settled  himself  back  with  a  sigh.  "Yer  see,  marm, 


110  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

I  ain  gitting  a  leetle  tired  o'  Molly  evenin's  an'  nights, 
an'  I  hev  ben  eatin'  my  dinner  alone  this  many  a  year; 
an'  this  'ere  place,  now,  seems  more  homelike.  My  old 
bones  is  gittin'  a  leetle  stiff  an'  rumatic,  yer  see.  Molly, 
she's  made  me  as  comfortable  as  she  could — ther  good, 
stanch,  old  gal;— but  then,  she's  only  a  boat,  arte'r  all, 
an'  yer  can't  expect  too  much  outen  a  boat,  yer  know." 

"Yes,  I  should  think  it  would  be  quite  wearisome  to 
remain  out-of-doors  all  the  time,"  asserted  Mrs.  Erie. 

"Wall,  marm,  when  yer  cum  ter  think  on't,  it  is.  But 
when  a  man  hes  no  wife,  nor  no  home,  he  kin  jest  make 
a  boat  dew  him,  somehow;  an'  Molly — old  Molly — she's 
ben  very  kind  ter  me  an'  made  me  as  comfortable  as  she 
could.  I  shouldn't  want  ter  seem  thankless  ter  Molly, 
yer  know." 

Mrs.  Erie  smiled  at  the  old  man's  conceit. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it  is  fortunate  that  the  boat  does 
not  possess  a  mind,  otherwise,  of  course,  she  might  feel 
hurt." 

"But  there's  somewhat  else  about  Molly.  She's  named 
arter  Molly,  yer  see;  an'  tother  Molly,  she  knows,  I 
guess,  though  she's  ben  in  thet  other  world  this  'ere 
many  a  year." 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  is  dead?"  asked  Mrs.   Erie. 

"Wall,  thet  would  be  what  sum  folks  would  call  it; 
but,  sum  how  or  nuther,  I  can't  jest  make  it  out  as  she 
is  dead.  'Pears  like  as  though  she  jest  lived  right  thar 
in  thet  thar  boat  with  me,  or,  ruther,  thet  she  jest  hov- 
ered over  me  an'  it;  jest  like  a  little  turtle-dove,  yer 
know,  a  spreadin'  its  purty  wings  out  ter  pertect  us. 
Can't  seem  ter  git  it  outen  my  mind;  an'  then  when  I 
goes  ter  sleep,  'pears  like  as  she  wus  a  sweet  angel  a.s 
kissed  an'  comforted  me,  fur,  marm,  ter  tell  ther  truth, 
it's  ruther  a  lonely  life  ter  lead,  fur  a  man  as  hes  no 
home,  nor  no  wife,  an'  fishes  all  day  by  hisself,  an'  eats 
by  hisself,  an'  sleeps  by  hisself,  an'  talks  to  hisself;  an1 
then,  yer  see,  marm,  ef  I  gits  sick  down  thar  in  thet 
thar  boat,  it  would  be  ruther  hard,  yer  see." 

"Indeed,    it  would,   Mr.    Kester,   very   hard." 

"I  wouldn't  hev  even  a  darter  ter  giv  me  a  drink,  es 
you  hev,  marm.  In  thet  respect,  you  air  better  off  nor 
me." 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  Ill 

"Jane  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Erie;  "still,  I  feel 
much  anxiety  on  her  account." 

"Wtiar  may  she  be  now,  marm,  thet  she's  not  here 
with  you?" 

"I  supposed  she  was  in  her  own  room  until  a  moment 
before  you  knocked.  I  wanted  to  speak  with  her,  but 
on  opening  her  door  I  found  she  had  gone  out  without 
my  knowledge.  It  is  eight  o'clock  and  quite  dark,  which 
makes  me  very  uneasy  about  her." 

"May  be  she  has  a  lover,  marm." 

"O,  no;  she  has  never  yet  received  visits  from  any 
gentleman,  Really,  Jane  is  not  acquainted  with  any 
young  man,  to  my  knowledge.  Probably  she  will  be  in 
directly." 

"There  air  young  men  as  don't  care  ter  hev  a  gal's 
mother  know  when  ther  gal  meets  him  out  on  the  sands 
in  the  dark." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Kester?"  and  Mrs.  Erie's 
eyes  wore  a  frightened  expression. 

"Wall,  now,  I  don't  like  ter  make  any  more  trouble 
fur  ye,  marm;  but  I  think  as  how  yer  darter  Jane  is  a 
walkin'  now  on  ther  beach  with  thet  thar  yung  millioner, 
Marcus  Chesterfield." 

"O,  Mr.  Kester!  It  cannot  be  possible.  He  could 
never  think  of  Jane  as  a  lover;  besides,  he  is  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Isabel  Morton." 

"Wall,  thet's  jest  it,"  responded  the  old  man.  "Ef  he 
wus  free  an'  clear,  an'  he  loved  Jane,  an'  wanted  ter 
marry  her,  yer  wouldn't  hev  seen  me  here  ternight,  per- 
haps; but,  then,  arter  all,  perhaps  yer  might.  Something 
sort  o'  draws  me  here,  whether  I  keer  ter  cum  or  not. 
Now,  marm,  yer  darter  is  out  thar  a  walkin'  on  thet 
thar  beach  with  thet  thar  yung  millioner,  as  don't  want 
ter  marry  her,  an'  as  is  engaged  ter  another  gal;  an'  I 
jest  seed  um  a  goin'  off  in  ther  darkness,  arm-in-arm, 
jest  as  lovers  should;  an'  I  sed  ter  myself,  as  how  her 
marm  oughter  know  on't;  fur  I  tuck  it  fur  granted  thet 
yer  didn't  know  about  it." 

Mrs.   Erie  groaned  aloud. 

"O,  Mr.  Kester!"  she  sobbed,  wringing  her  hands. 
"What  am  I  to  do  about  it?  Jane  will  not  listen  to  any- 
thing I  may  say.  Must  I  see  my  child  go  to  her  ruin?" 


112  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Wall,  no  marm.  She  shall  not  go  ter  her  ruin  ef  we 
kin  help  it;  but,  perhaps,  it  may  not  be  quite  so  bad 
es  thet.  She  is  a  pretty  fair-minded  gal,  is  Jane." 

"That  is  very  true,"  replied  Mrs.  Erie,  more  cheer- 
fully. "She  has  such  strength  and  purpose  of  will,  that 
I  believe  she  would  die  rather  than  yield  to  anything  she 
could,  or  would  not,  approve  of;  and,  with  all  her  faults, 
she  has  never  shown  the  least  leaning  toward  vice.  I 
thank  you,  Mr.  Kester,  for  letting  me  know  of  this;  for, 
when  she  returns,  I  shall  have  a  long  and  serious  talk 
with  her." 

"Spoakin*  o'  lovers,  marm,  dew  yer  think  thet  an'  old 
man  hes  no  right  ter  thet  thar  epithet?" 

Mrs.  Erie  laughed. 

"I  suppose,"  she  answered,  "that  there  may  be  many 
old  men  who  love  very  devotedly." 

"An'  shuld  yer  think,  marm,  as  how  I  mightn't  be  one 
o'  them  old  men,  as  would  love  devotedly,  as  would 
cherish  my  wife,  ef  I  hed  one;  as  would  pervide  fur  my 
wife,  ef  I  hed  one;  as  would  love  my  home,  ef  I  hed  one; 
as  would  make  a  lady  of  my  wife,  in  so  far  as  I  could; 
as  would  take  all  the  heavy  burdens  off  my  wife,  ef  I 
hed  one?" 

"I  feel  sure  that  you  are  a  man  like  that." 

"I  thank  yer,  marm;  I  thank  yer  kindly,  marm,  fer 
yer  good  'pinion  o'  me.  Wall,  now,  marm,  a  man  can't 
be  a  lover  like  thet,  unless  he  meets  a  lady  who  would 
be  willin*  ter  become  his  wife,  an'  let  him  love,  an'  per- 
vide, an'  pertect  her,  can  he,  now,  marm?" 

"Certainly  not,"  answered  Mrs.  Erie.  "But  you  arc  so 
good  and  kind,  Mr.  Kester,  I  think  there  might  be  a 
great  many  poor,  lonely  women,  who  would  love  you 
very  dearly — oh,  very  dearly,  indeed!" 

"But  yer  see,  marm,  I  don't  want  a  great  many 
wimen;  I  jest  wants  one,  an'  no  more  nor  no  less." 

"Yes."  And  Mrs.  Erie's  eyes  drooped  beneath  his 
bright  and  eager  glance. 

"Now  thet  one  woman,  as  I  love,  an'  want  ter  make 
my  wife,  an  pervide  fur,  an  pertect,  hes  a  only  darter, 
an'  I  would  like  ter  be  a  father  ter  thet  thar  gal." 

"O,  would   you?"   said  Mrs.   Erie,  clasping  her  hands. 

"Yes;  an*  ef  I  wus  a  father  ter  thet  thar  gal,  I  would 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  113 

pertect  her,  an'  pervide  fur  her;  an'  then,  when  a  cussed 
millioner  cum  around,  enticing  of  her  out  in  the  dark, 
on  thet  thar  beach,  I  would  horsewhip  him  within  a 
inch  o'  his  life,  cuss  him!  Now,  marm,  you  air  thet  thar 
woman  as  I  love,  an'  as  I  wants  ter  pervide  fur,  an'  as 
I  wants  ter  pertect.  You  air  the  truest,  an'  best,  an' 
purtiest  little  woman  as  ever  I  seed,  'cept  Molly — always, 
'cept  Molly.  But  Molly,  she  hes  ben  a  angel  this  twenty 
year  or  more,  an'  she  sed  to  me  in  a  dream,  last  night: 

"  'Nathan — Nathan!  Listen  to  me.  Go  an'  marry  thet 
purty  little  woman,  thet  I  know  yer  love,  an'  I  won't  be 
jealous  o'  yer.  Yer  must  hev  someone  ter  look  arter  yer, 
an'  love  yer  in  yer  old  age;  an'  she's  the  best  little 
woman  as  ever  lived,  an'  she's  poor,  an'  she's  in  trouble, 
an'  she's  no  one  ter  pervide  fur  her,  an'  love  her.'  An' 
then  I  sez  ter  Molly,  sez  I:  'But,  perhaps  thet  thar  little 
woman  don't  love  me;  perhaps  thet  thar  little  woman 
won't  hev  me;  an'  ef  I  axed  her,  an'  she  sed  no,  I  shuld 
be  more  lonely  an'  heart-sick  then  before.'  An'  Molly, 
she  sed:  'Thet  thar  little  woman  does  love  yer,  Nathan, 
though  yer  old— perhapg  ten  year  older  then  she— an'  yer 
a  rough  old  fisherman,  Nathan.  Thet  don't  make  no  dif- 
ference, Nathan;  thet  thar  little  woman,  she  sees  down 
deeper'n  all  thet,  an'  she  knows  thet  yer  hart  is  big,  an' 
thet  yer  hart  is  good.' — Now  it  wus  Molly  an'  not  me 
thet  sed  thet  thar.  I  am  jest  tellin'  yer  what  Molly  sed 
—'an'  thet  yer  wud  make  her  a  good  husban',  an'  per- 
vide fur  her,  an'  pertect  her  an'  her  darter.  Of  course, 
Nathan,  yer  only  a  old  fisherman,  an'  yer  never  hed  no 
larnin'— yer  ought  ter  hev  study'd  grammar,  Nathan. 
Now  yer  jest  go  an'  tell  thet  thar  little  woman  thet  yer 
love  her;  an'  yer'll  make  yerself  an'  her  both  happy  an' 
contented.'  Now  I  dew  wish  yer  wud  cum  here  an'  set 
down  on  my  knee,  an'  put  yer  little  arms  aroun'  my 
neck,  an'  say,  'Nathan,  I  love  yer!  an'  I  will  marry  yer, 
an*  I  will  be  yer  wife,  so  help  me  God!'  " 

Mrs.  Erie  burst  into  tears,  and  going  to  the  old  fisher- 
man she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck  and  buried  her 
tearful  face  in  his  bosom. 

"O,  Nathaniel!"  she  sobbed.  "I  do  love  you.  I  have 
loved  you  for  a  long  time.  You  are  so  good — you  are  so 
kind — you  are  so  loving!  Who  could  help  loving  you?" 


114  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 


CHAPTER  XX. 


The  old  man  raised  the  head  of  the  woman  he  had 
learned  to  love  in  spite  of  Molly  the  angel,  or,  rather, 
in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  that  angel,  in  spite  of 
Molly  the  boat,  and  wiping  the  tears  from  her  eyes, 
with  her  own  little  handkerchief,  he  tenderly  kissed  the 
sweet  lips,  fondling  her  head  the  meanwhile,  as  a  father 
fondles  the  head  of  his  child,  smoothing  the  faded  haii 
as  he  said: 

"Thar,  thar!  Don't  cry  my  purty.  Yer  shall  never 
shed  another  tear  ef  old  Kister  kin  help  it,  an'  yer  shall 
never  take  another  stitch  fur  them  thar  proud  wimen- 
folks  up  thar  at  thet  thar  hotel.  No,  my  purty;  old 
Kister' s  got  money  enough  fur  to  buy  this  ere  little  cot, 
which  is  jest  big  enough  fur  you  an'  me,  an'  Kister  he'll 
fence  in  a  little  gardin  at  the  back,  an'  yer  shall  hev  a 
lot  o'  flowers.  Moreover,  Kister,  he'll  put  a  nice  little 
porch  over  the  front  door,  an'  we  will  train  roses  all 
over  it;  an'  in  thet  thar  back  gardin  yer  shall  hev  yer 
chickens  an'  yer  turkeys,  an'  Kister  '11  buy  a  hoss,  an' 
a  cow,  an'  yer  shell  hev  yer  little  buggy  ter  ride  in;  an' 
then  yer  may  ride  up  thar,  parst  thet  thar  hotel,  an' 
look  peart  like;  an'  yer  shell  hev  a  new  bunnet,  an' 
some  new  gownds,  an'  nobudy  shell  ever  look  down  on 
yer  no  more;  ef  they  do,  ole  Kister  '11  be  in  ther  liar, 
right  off;  an'  then,  perhaps,  yer'll  go  out  with  me  in 
Molly  onct  in  a  while.  Oh,  we'll  put  the  posies  back 
inter  them  pale  cheeks,"  he  continued,  pinching  them 
softly  and  Idssing  them,  "an'  ther  blue  shine  inter  these 
ere  eyes.  I  never  hed  the  chance  of  doin'  all  sech  things 
fur  Mollie.  fur  she  died,  poor  gal;  but  I  will  do  all  ther 
more  fur  you,  my  purty;  an'  then  yer  shell  make  ther 
old  man's  coffee,  an'  fry  ther  old  man's  fish,  an'  bile  his 
eggs  fur  him,  an'  mend  his  old  torn  coat  an  trouses,  an' 
make  his  shirts  fur  him:  but  yer  shell  make  no  shirts 
fur  no  other  man  livin'." 

Mrs.  Erie's  pale  face  was  lying  against  the  old  man's 
breast  during  this  time,  tears  resting  on  her  chocks  but 


A   MILL  AND   A   MILLION.  115 

a  happy  smile  om  her  lips.  Her  arms  tightened  about 
his  neck  as  she  drew  down  the  grizzled  head,  kissing  him 
on  either  cheek,  his  forehead  and  his  hairy  neck.  He 
was  large,  hairy,  long  and  powerful,  while  she  was 
rather  small,  pale  and  delicate  looking. 

"O!  Nathaniel;  you  are  so  good,  so  loving,  so  kind. 
How  happy  I  shall  be!  No  more  sorrow,  no  more  lone- 
liness, no  more  stitch,  stitch,  stitch.  The  song  of  the 
shirt  will  not  hum  its  eternal  refrain  in  my  ears.  Oh, 
Nathan,  darling;  how  did  you  know  that  I  wanted  a 
little  garden  in  front  of  the  cottage  and  a  porch,  a  back 
yard  with  trees,  chickens  and  turkeys?  There  is  a  whole 
acre  of  land  belonging  to  this  cottage,  dear.  Oh,  how  I 
have  longed  to  have  this  little  place  for  my  own;  how  I 
have  longed  to  have  that  little  rose  porch  over  the  front 
door.  How  did  you  know  all  this?  I  never  told  anyone." 

"Wall;  a  sea-gull  telled  me  when  he  quacked;  Molly, 
she  telled  me  when  she  rocked  herself  on  them  thar 
waves  out  thar.  The  sun  he  telled  it  ter  me  when  he 
lifted  his  bright,  laffin'  face  up  outen  ther  fog  behind 
them  thar  mountins;  the  moon,  she  whispered  it  ter  me 
softly,  an'  pears  like  she  winded  us  together  in  her  wide 
white  mantle;  an'  all  ther  little  stars  shot  ther  arrers 
at  me,  fur  all  on  them  ware  so  many  little  cupids,  but 
they  wearn't  blind,  fur  ther  arrers  went  inter  my  hart, 
an'  ther  eyes  looked  straight  toward  this  little,  lone, 
black  house,  outen  here  on  this  'ere  beach— an'  thet  re- 
minds me,  sweet — yer  shell  hev  this  ere  little  house 
painted  white,  or,  perhaps,  yer'd  ruther  hev  it  yaller,  in 
honor  o'  my  yaller-tails,  fur  I  hev  made  ther  money 
thet'll  pay  fur  ther  paintin'  of  it,  a  catchin'  o'  them 
thar  yaller-tails.  Perhaps  yer'll  like  it  painted  red,  or 
sea-green,  or  sky-blue — oh,  any  color  yer'd  like  best,  my 
purty;  or  how  wud  yer  like  it  a  painted  of  a  dove-color? 
fur  it  will  be  the  bidin'  place  o'  two  turkle  doves,  sure's 
my  name's  Kester— Nathaniel  Kester;  an'  thet  reminds 
me — an'  your  name  '11  be  Kester  too,  now,  won't  it?" 

"I  hope  so,"  sighed  Mrs.   Erie. 

"An'  your  name's  Erie  now.  This  ere  lone,  black  place 
looks  more  like  the  nest  o'  a  raven  then  it  do  like  ther 
erie  o'  an  eagle." 

"But,  Jane!  Jane!   Jane!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Erie.    "Jane 


116  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

is  the  eagle.  She  is  the  soaring  bird.  God  grant  that 
she  may  find  an  erie  suited  to  her  lofty  ambition."  The 
poor  lady  started  up.  "We  have  forgotten  Jane,  en- 
tirely, in  our  great  happiness.  What  about  Jane?  Oh, 
where  is  the  child  now?  Why  does  she  not  return? 
Nathan,  Nathan,  I  hope  no  harm  will  come  to  her." 

"Make  yerself  easy,  my  purty  dear,  no  harm  shell 
cum  ter  Jane.  Jane  shell  be  my  darter  as  well  as  yourn, 
an'  wo*  betide  ther  man  thet  looks  at  her  with  a  hawk's 
eye.  I'll  bring  him  low,  I'll  bring  him  low!  I  haint  got 
no  larnin',  but  I  hev  got  a  mighty  powerful  fist,  an' 
ther  man  es  wrongs  my  darter  '11  feel  it." 

"O,  Nathan,  dear  Nathan;  it  is  nine  o'clock  and  she  is 
not  here  yet;  what  ought  we  to  do?" 

Nathan  arose.  He  gently  placed  Mrs.  Erie  in  the 
large  arm  chair  wherein  he  had  been  sitting. 

"Now  set  thar,  an'  jest  be  quiet  an'  easy  like,  an' 
don't  fret  nor  nothin'.  I'll  look  arter  thet  thar  gal  an' 
thet  thar  yung  millioner." 

Mr.  Kester  went  into  the  kitchen,  took  down  his  hat 
and  coat  and  put  them  on,  then  returning  to  where  Mrs. 
Erie  sat,  he  took  her  in  his  powerful  arms,  somewhat 
as  a  father  does  his  little  child,  kissed  her  fondly  a  half 
dozen  times  or  more,  then  replaced  her,  stroked  her  hair 
softly  with  his  great  rough  hand. 

"Now  set  thar  quiet,  while  I  go  ter  see  ter  things.  I 
hev  ther  right  now,  but  until  yer  sed  yer'd  be  my  wife, 
I  cud  not,  very  well,  interfere  twixt  a  man  an'  a  gal  as 
wus  nothin'  ter  me;  but  now  yer've  gin  me  ther  right — 
ther  right  o'  a  father,  I'll  see  whuther  thet  yung  mil- 
lioner wants  ter  marry  Jane  er  no.  Not  but  what  Jane's 
good  enuf  fur  eny  man,  whuther  or  no  he  hes  a  mill  er 
a  million,  but  maybe  thet  yung  man  hes  a  different  mind, 
which  I'll  soon  find  out.  I'll  cum  back  ter  yer  purty 
soon,  turkle-dove,  an'  bring  yer  eaglet  ter  yer.  Strange," 
he  muttered  to  himself  as  he  closed  the  door,  "thet  such 
a  dove  shud  nest  a  eaglet." 

The  old  fisherman  strode  forth,  with  swinging  steps, 
into  the  darkness.  Jane  Erie  and  Marcus  Chesterfield 
had  returned  to  the  bench  and  just  as  he  bent  down  to 
press  one  more  passionate  kiss  on  her  lips,  a  tall  form 


A    MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  117 

loomed  over  him  in  the  blackness  of  the  dark  night. 
Marcus  and  Jane  both  started  to  their  feet. 

"Spy!"  muttered  the  young  man  through  his  clenched 
teeth.  "Move  on,  sir;  whoever  you  may  be." 

"It  is  Kester;  that  mean  old  fisherman,"  whispered 
Jane. 

"What  is  your  business  here?"  thundered  Marcus. 
"Are  you  deaf  and  dumb,  that  you  cannot  speak?  Get 
out  of  my  path,  sir!  Let  us  pass.  This  young  lady  is 
anxious  to  get  home." 

"Yer  axed  me  whut  my  business  wus  here,  yung  man; 
an'  I'll  answer  thet  thar  question.  Fust;  my  business 
here  is  tew  hev  a  reckonin'  with  you." 

"A  reckoning  with  me,"  sneered  young  Chesterfield. 
"Do  I  owe  you  anything,  sir?" 

"Yes,    yer   dew — yer   sartinly   dew." 

"It  is  false,  sir!  I  never  had  any  dealings  with  you 
in  my  life." 

"But  a  man  as  hes  dealin's  with  another  man's  wife 
an'  darter,  hes  dealin's  with  ther  man  hisself." 

"Yon  have  no  wife  or  daughter,  you  falsifier — you  out- 
cast of  a  fisherman!  Is  it  not  well  known  to  everyone 
in  this  town,  that  you  were  never  married?" 

"But  I  will  be  married  before  ther  sun  sets  termorrer 
night,  ef  thar  is  a  justice  in  this  town  as  hes  a  right 
ter  perform  ther  ceramony,  an'  a  license  can  be  hed; 
an'  I  know  it  kin  be,  an'  yer  know  it  kin  be,  an'  ef  ther 
justice  can't  tie  ther  knot  one  o'  ther  ministers  kin." 

"Well,  what  has  that  to  do  with  me,  either  pro  or 
con  ?" 

"Pro  means,  I  take  it,  before;  an'  con,  after;  thet  is, 
I  hev  hearn  so;  but  I'm  not  a  larned  man,  maybe  it  don't 
hev  eny  sich  meanin',  but  whuther  it  do  or  it  don't, 
we'll  jest  understand  it  thet  thar  way.  Pro  is  now,  I 
take  it;  an'  con  is  termorrer  night  at  this  time — an'  ter- 
morrer night  at  this  time  I  shell  hev  a  wife  an'  a  dar- 
ter." 

"But  what  is  all  this  to  me?  you  blasted  idiot!" 

"Blarsted,  am  I?  Ijeot,am  I?  Whut  is  it  all  tew  you? 
Wall,  it  ought  ter  be  a  great  deal  ter  yer.  Wall,  now, 
I  am  er  Yankee,  whut  cum  frum  Yarmuth,  in  old  Massa- 
chewsets,  an'  I'll  answer  yer  question  by  axin'  anuther: 


118  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

Whut  is  thet  thar  gal,  by  yer  side,  tew  you— thet  thar 
gal  as  yer  hev  ben  a  \\alkin'  with  on  this  ere  lonely 
beach— thet  thar  gal  as  yer  hev  a  ben  a  kissin'  on  in  ther 
darkness— whut  is  thet  thar  gal  tew  you?"  and  Mr. 
Nathaniel  Kester's  voice  took  on  the  sound  of  a  sea- 
lion's — a  sea-lion  being  robbed  of  its  whelps. 

"What  is  this  young  lady  to  me?  Have  I  not  a  right 
to  walk  on  the  beach  with  any  young  lady  I  choose, 
providing  she  is  willing  to  walk  with  me?" 

<%No'"  thundered  Kester.  "Yer  hev  no  sich  right.  L 
am  a  blarsted  ijeot,  but  blarsted  ijeot  as  I  am,  I  know 
right  frum  wrong,  which  is  mor'n  yer  pear  ter  under- 
stan';  answer  me,  now,  anuther  question.  Hes  a  man 
a  right  ter  dew  wrong?  No  circumvolvalatin'  about, 
answer  yes  or  no.  Hev  yer,  or  any  other  man  a  right 
ter  dew  wrong9" 

"I  contend  that  I  am  doing  no  wrong,"  replied  Marcus. 
"I  have  a  right  to  walk  with  any  young  lady  I  choose, 
providing  she  is  willing.  I  also  have  a  right  to  kiss  her, 
if  I  choose,  providing  she  is  willing;  and  there  is  noth- 
ing wrong  about  that." 

"I  am  a  old  ijeot,  as  yer  say;  but  ther  law  says  it  is 
wrong  fer  a  man  ter  hev  tew  wives  at  ther  same  time, 
in  course,  we  leave  ther  morinens  out  o'  ther  question; 
perhaps  yer  a  mormen  then?  I  never  axed  whuther  yer 
ware  or  no;  air  ye  a  mormen?" 

"No,  sir;    I  am  not." 

"Ye  air  a  American  citizen,  an'  not  a  mormen;  then 
yer  hev  no  right  ter  marry  two  wimen.  Now  ther  ques- 
tion I  want  ter  ax  yer,  is  this:  which  one  o'  them  two 
wimen  air  ye  a  goin'  ter  marry,  Isabel  Morton,  or  Jane 
Erie?" 

"It  is  none  of  your  business,  old  man." 

"Then  I'll  make  it  my  business,  and  arter  this  night 
I'll  make  it  ther  business  o'  my  life.  Yer'll  ruin  no 
darter  o'  mine  ef  her  father  kin  help  it.  I'll  lay  ye  low, 
yer  scoundrel,  ef  this  strong  right  arm  hes  ther  power 
ter  dew  it!  Come,  Jane;  take  my  arm  an'  let's  go 
home  ter  yer  mother — ter  thet  purty  turkle-dove  as  is  a 
settin'  thar,  in  thet  thar  great  arm  chair,  a  waitin'  fur 
her  husban'  an'  her  darter." 

"What  are  you  talking  of,  you  abominable  old  man!" 


A   MILL  AND  A   MILLION.  119 

exclaimed  Jane.  "My  mother  has  no  husband.  By  what 
right  do  you  call  me  Jane?  you  vulgar  creature!  Take 
your  arm?  No,  indeed,  not  I.  Are  you  crazy,  to  talk 
about  marrying  my  mother?  How  dare  you?  My 
mother,  who  was  once  a  lady,  marry  an  old,  ignorant 
fisherman  like  yourself?  I  would  much  rather  see  her 
in  her  coffin— moreover,  how  dare  you  meddle  with  me 
or  my  affairs?  Do  you  think  yourself  more  capable  of 
looking  after  me  than  I  am  of  taking  care  of  myself? 
Begone!  and  leave  us.  This  young  man  is  my  promised 
husband.  We  are  affianced.  I  have  a  right  to  be  here 
with  him,  if  I  choose.  He  has  a  right  to  kiss  me,  if  he 
pleases.  Take  yourself  out  of  my  path,  sir.  What  right 
have  you  to  interfere  between  me  and  my  future  hus- 
band?" 

"Hes  he  broken  troth  with  Isabel  Morton,  then?" 
asked  the  old  man. 

"What  business  is  that  of  yours,  old  man?  Go  and 
ask  her  if  you  want  to  know." 

"Jane,"  said  the  old  fisherman,  "I  ask  yer  pardin,  ef 
I  hev  offended  yer;  but  yer  marm  is  promised  ter  me — 
we  are  fianced  me  an'  her  as  is  a  settin'  thar  a  waitin' 
fur  me  now;  an'  as  yer  will  be  my  darter  termorrer,  I 
wants  ter  pertect  yer,  an'  pervide  fur  yer,  like  as  if  yer 
ware  my  own  child.  I  don't  want  ter  see  them  purty 
little  fingers  a  pricked  up  by  thet  thar  needle  eny  more; 
nor  them  bright  eyes  spiled  a  sewin'  on  shirts.  I  wud 
like  ter  hev  my  little  gal— my  little  darter— made  com- 
fortable an'  happy;  but  ef  as  yer  say,  ye  air  ther  prom- 
ised wife  o*  thet  air  millioner,  then  I  hev  no  more  ter 
say,  ef  he's  broke  with  tother  gal,  an'  ef  he  means  ter 
keep  his  promise  ter  yer;  but  I  will  see  thet  tother  gal 
an'  find  out  fur  sartin,  or  my  name's  not  Nathaniel 
Kester.  But  come,  now:  come  this  time,  Jane,  thet's  a 
good  little  gal,  come  home  ter  yer  marm.  I  sed  as  how 
I'd  brung  yer.  She's  grieved  like,  an'  frightened,  ter 
hev  yer  out  so  late." 

Jane's  haughty  face  softened  somewhat  at  the  men- 
tion of  her  mother's  grief  and  fright. 

"Marcus,"  she  said,  quite  gently,  "I  think  I  must  go 
in  now.  It  really  is  late.  You  need  not  wait  to  accom- 
pany me  old  man,"  she  continued,  turning  to  the  fisher- 


120  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

man;  "I  am  fully  able  to  walk  alone,  and  need  none  of 
your  assistance.  Good  night,  dear  Marcus.  Kiss  me, 
my  betrothed,"  aad  she  turned  her  face  upward  toward 
his.  He  kissed  her  in  a  perfunctory  manner  and  she 
skipped  rapidly  away  into  the  darkness. 

"Now  go  about  your  business,  you  spying  old  rascal!" 
exclaimed  Marcus;  "and  if  I  ever  catch  you  at  it  again, 
I  will  have  you  arrested  as  a  midnight  assassin — one  of 
the  fraternity  of  sand-baggers,"  and  the  young  man 
turned  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 

Nathan  clenched  his  powerful  fist  and  looked  at  it  in 
the  darkness. 

"Ef  I  wus  ter  strike  him  with  thet  thar,"  he  muttered 
to  himself,  "he  wild  be  a  layin'  here  at  my  feet,  dead! 
I  must  be  keerful  thet  this  hand  commits  no  murder. 
Hold  yer  rowers,  Nathan — hold  yer  rowers,  an'  don't 
yer  strike,"  then  turning,  he  walked  down  toward  the 
boat 


A  MILL  AND   A  MILLION.  121 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

MORTON   HOUSE. 

"I  axed  thet  thar  pardner  o'  mine,  ter  stay  by  Molly 
'till  I  cum.  Guess  he's  eanamost  tired  out  by  this  time. 
Bless  me,  ther  town  clock  is  a  strikin'  ten  a  ready." 

He  found  Mark  awaiting  his  return.  "Thar,  boy," 
said  Nathan,  "yer  kin  go  now.  I  wus  gone  longer-n  I 
meant  ter  be;  an'  I  guess  as  how  yer  may  take  Molly 
an'  go  out  alone  termorrer.  Ye  kin  her  all  yer  make 
termorrer,  lad,  fur  yer  old  dad  is  a  goin'  ter  git  spliced. 
Guess  as  how  ye  kin  take  ther  boat  fur  ther  rest  o'  ther 
week,  fur  when  two  turkle  doves  begins  a  cooin'  ter  each 
other,  they  must  hev  a  little  time  to  theirselves,  yer  see." 

"Why,  Uncle  Kester;  are  you  really  in  earnest?  Is 
it  possible  you  are  to  marry?  You  have  not  intimated 
It  to  me  before  now.  Who  is  to  be  the  happy  bride?" 

"Ther  bestest  little  woman  in  all  this  wide  world — 
thet  little  turkle  dove  up  thar,  as  hes  a  eaglet  fur  a  dar- 
ter— a  black-eyed,  soarin'  eaglet,  as  picks  a  man's  eyes 
out  quicker  'n  a  wink." 

"Do  you  mean  Mrs.   Erie?"  asked   Mark. 

"Yes,  I  dew— ther  sweet,   purty  dove!" 

Mark  shook  the  old  fisherman's  hand  with  a  beaming 
face.  "I  am  very  glad,"  he  said.  "You  will  both  be  a 
great  deal  happier  and  more  comfortable.  She  needs  a 
husband  and  you  need  a  wife.  Nothing  could  be  better. 
Dad,  dear  old  dad!  I  wish  you  joy!" 

"Wall,"  said  Nathan,  pensively;  "I  hev  got  a  son— 
ther  bestest  yung  feller  as  ever  lived— an'  I  shell  hev  a 
darter  termorrer.  Frum  a  lonely  old  man,  as  hes  no- 
budy  belongin'  ter  him,  I  shell  soon  hev  a  fambly— but 
thet  thar  eaglet— it's  hard  ter  tame  one  o'  them  birds." 

"You  refer  to  Miss  Erie,  do  you  not,  Uncle  Kester?" 

"Yes;  thet  thar  gal— thet  thar  young  eaglet  what's 
jest  a  berginin'  ter  fly.  Ther  nest  o'  ther  turkle  dove 
won't  hold  her  much  longer  I'm  a  thinkin'.  Pray  God 
her  half  fledged  wings  may  not  be  siled  or  broken;"  and 
the  old  man  wiped  a  tear  from  his  eye  with  the  sleeve 


122  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

of  his  coat.  "Good  uight,  lad.  I  tolled  my  turkle  dove 
as  how  I  shud  cum  back  ter  her  for  a  little.  No  one 
will  molest  Molly  here,  arter  this  time  o'  night;"  and 
the  two  men  parted,  Mark  going  to  the  hotel,  and 
Nathan  toward  the  little,  lonely,  black  cottage,  not  far 
away. 

Jane  had  reached  the  house  some  time  since,  and  en- 
tered her  room  as  she  had  left  it,  without  passing  through 
the  living  room  where  her  mother  was  still  sitting  in  the 
arm  chair  as  Mr.  Kester  had  left  her.  The  mother's 
quick  ear  caught  the  sounds  as  her  daughter  moved 
about.  Peace  and  love  were  in  her  heart.  She  would 
not  risk  a  scene  with  Jane,  just  now. 

Presently  the  latch  lifted  and  the  tall  form  of  the  old 
fisherman  filled  the  doorway.  He  hung  his  hat  and  coat 
up  as  formerly,  then  taking  his  love,  who  would  be  his 
wife  tomorrow,  in  his  arms,  he  kissed  her  fondly. 

"Is  it  all  right  with  Jane?"  she  asked. 

At  that  moment  the  young  lady  herself  opened  the 
door  and  stood  with  flashing  eyes,  confronting  them. 

"Mother,"  said  she,  "I  wish  to  inform  you  that  I  am 
the  promised  wife  of  Marcus  Chesterfield,  that  we  have 
pledged  our  troth  to  each  other."  She  held  up  her  hand 
and  a  very  beautiful,  valuable,  diamond  ring  sparkled 
on  one  of  the  fingers  of  that  hand.  "He  gave  me  this 
ring  wherewith  to  seal  our  betrothal  this  night.  I 
thought  there  were  to  be  no  witnesses  but  the  senseless 
and  shifting  sands,  but  I  was  mistaken.  That  man  wit- 
nessed the  betrothal  kiss.  You,  my  mother,  behold  the 
ring.  It  is  enough.  A  kiss  is  a  small  thing  to  exchange 
for  a  ring  of  betrothment  with  a  millionaire,  especially 
to  a  girl  who  has  never  known  anything  but  poverty  and 
distress.  Never  fear  for  me,  mother.  It  is  not  an  easy 
matter  to  bring  down  an  eagle.  Remember,  mother,  an 
eagle  is  a  bird  of  prey.  I  have  been  called  an  eagle  so 
many  times  that  I  rather  like  the  comparison." 

When  she  had  delivered  this  speech,  she  closed  her 
door  and  locked  it.  The  mother  gave  a  sigh  of  relief, 
but  Nathaniel  Kester  clenched  his  fist;  and  then  gave 
himself  up  to  his  present  enjoyment  with  the  woman 
who  would  be  his  wife  on  the  morrow;  and  it  was  mid- 
night before  he  returned  to  Molly  and  sleep. 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  123 

Midnight  found  Marcus  Chesterfield,  together  with  his 
friends,  luxuriously  eating,  drinking  and  gambling,  and 
Jane  Erie  was  to  hirn  almost  as  though  she  did  not  exist. 
As  on  former  occasions,  he  staggered  to  bed  at  daylight 
and  did  not  rise  until  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  after- 
noon. This  night  he  had  lost  ten  dollars  at  cards.  Not 
much  to  speak  of,  to  be  sure,  but  Alstain  had  ten  dollars 

more  in  his  pocket. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Great  preparations  were  going  on  at  the  Morton  house, 
for  the  entertainment  of  Marcus  Chesterfield  and  his 
friends.  Mrs.  Morton  desired  to  show  the  young  million- 
aire that  she  was  well  qualified  to  superintend  the  es- 
tablishment, even  of  a  prince,  if  necessary;  and  when 
the  dinner  hour  arrived,  the  Morton  house  was  as  bril- 
liant as  a  house  of  that  size  could  possibly  be.  Every 
gas  jet  throughout  the  establishment  was  ablaze;  every 
piece  of  silver  owned  by  that  lady  was  polished  to  the 
last  degree  of  brightness.  The  oldest  and  daintiest  china 
was  brought  forth  from  the  recesses  of  innumerable 
cupboards.  The  dinner  should  consist  of  ten  courses,  at 
least,  and  more  if  necessary.  The  small  markets  of  the 
town  were  searched  for  the  tenderest  and  choicest  of 
meats.  Fruits  of  all  kinds  were  sought.  Fish  and  game 
of  the  most  expensive  kinds  were  purchased.  A  hamper 
of  claret  was  ordered  and  a  dozen  of  champagne.  The 
ice  cream  freezer  was  brought  into  requisition,  and  Mrs. 
Morton  was  obliged  to  send  to  the  hotel  for  dainties  un- 
obtainable in  the  town  at  the  markets.  Mrs.  Morton 
was  a  lady  of  refined  tastes  and  by  the  time  Marcus 
and  his  friends  arrived,  the  house  looked  like  the  dwell- 
ing of  gods  or  fairies — and  Isabel,  sweet  Isabel,  charm- 
ing, dainty  Isabel. 

How  proud  the  mother  was  of  her  beautiful  darling, 
dressed  in  the  palest  of  blue  silk,  heavily  trimmed  with 
the  finest  and  costliest  of  lace,  her  fluffy  hair  drawn  to 
the  top  of  her  head  where  it  rested  like  a  crown,  with 
numerous  curling  tendrils  escaping  everywhere.  She 
wore  no  jewelry  except  the  sparkling  diamond  ring  that 
Marcus  had  given  her  as  a  pledge  that  next  New  Year's 
eve  she  would  be  his  bride.  A  large  bunch  of  sweet 
violets  rested  on  her  bosom  and  a  few  drooped  from 


124  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

the  golden  tendrils  of  her  hair.  Her  eyes  and  the  violets 
were  of  the  same  color;  the  delicate  lace  covered  her 
neck  and  arms,  for  she  was  too  modest  to  allow  them 
to  remain  uncovered. 

The  guests  had  not  yet  arrived  and  she  sat  at  the 
piano  playing  a  plaintive  air,  wherein  the  murmur  of 
the  sea  could  be  heard;  and,  listening,  one  could  imagine 
the  broad,  calm  Pacific,  with  the  waves  beating  out  the 
pulsating  undertone  of  its  melody — the  broad  Pacific,  so 
calm  and  yet  so  restless — so  boundless  and  irresistible — so 
vast  and  deep— so  strong  and  mighty  and  yet  all  broken 
into  little  flirts  and  fluffs,  like  the  girl  herself. 

Mrs.  Morton  bustled  about,  looking  after  the  servants 
as  they  put  the  finishing  touches  to  the  table.  When  all 
was  done  she  entered  the  small  parlor  where  Isabel  was 
seated  at  tho  piano.  Mrs.  Morton  wore  a  dress  of  gar- 
net silk,  heavily  trimmed  with  black  lace.  Truly,  she 
was  superb — not  over  forty  years  of  age,  with  a  full, 
matronly  figure.  Her  shining  dark  brown  hair  was 
dressed  similar  to  that  of  her  daughter's;  her  large, 
brown  eyes  flashed  with  gratified  pride,  and  she  carried 
herself  with  haughty  grace;-  but,  unlike  her  daughter, 
she  was  bedecked  with  jewels — jewels  that  she  had  kept 
through  all  her  struggling  life— since  her  father  and 
husband  had  given  them  to  her  in  her  youth.  Diamonds 
glistened  in  her  hair,  on  her  arms,  neck  and  bosom;  and 
she  wore  a  number  of  valuable  rings  on  her  plump  fin- 
gers. She  did  not  cover  her  arms  and  neck  as  her 
daughter  did,  but  allowed  them  to  remain  bare,  that 
their  plump  whiteness  might  be  made  more  manifest  by 
the  rich  garnet  and  black  of  her  dress. 


A    MILL    AND    A   MILLION.  125 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

BANQUETING   AT   THE   MORTON    HOUSE. 

The  door  opened  and  the  servant  announced — "Mr. 
Marcus  Chesterfield,  Mr.  Albert  Alstain,  Mr.  Joseph 
MacMerry." 

We  must  here  pause  to  state  that  the  Mac  was  left 
off  from  his  name;  but  when  his  name  was  announced, 
or  he  had  occasion  to  write  or  sign  his  name,  it  was 
then  given  in  full. 

When  polite  greetings  were  over  and  the  gentlemen 
had  an  opportunity  to  look  about  them  a  little,  they  were 
charmed. 

Alstain  thought  Mrs.  Morton  the  handsomest  woman 
he  had  ever  met  in  his  life,  and  vowed  to  himself  that 
he  would  lay  siege  to  her  heart.  Merry  looked  at  Isabel 
somewhat  as  one  might  look  at  an  angel.  He  was  awe- 
stricken  in  her  presence,  for  she  was  surrounded  by  a 
subtle  aura  that  no  man  might  enter  whose  aura  was 
not  correspondingly  pure — all  others  and,  thus  far,  all 
men  were  kept  at  a  distance  outside  this  invisible  aura-r- 
invisible  to  the  eye,  but  keenly  felt  by  a  sense  which  as 
yet  these  impure  men  did  not  understand.  Perhaps,  my 
readers,  you  may  understand  it  better.  It  is  now  called 
the  sixth  sense. 

Three  other  persons,  boarders  in  the  house,  now  en- 
tered the  room — the  old  gentleman  before  mentioned,  and 
two  ladies;  one,  tall,  lank  and  elderly;  the  other,  her 
niece,  a  very  diminutive  young  lady,  so  small,  indeed, 
that  she  made  one  think  of  a  large  doll,  and  her  beauty 
was  precisely  like  that  of  a  doll.  Her  motions  were  stiff, 
like  those  of  a  doll,  and  yet,  like  that  image,  she  seemed 
to  be  loose  in  all  her  joints.  Her  flaxen  hair  fluffed  out 
all  around  her  head,  being  simply  confined  by  a  small 
band  of  pearls.  Her  eyes  were  large,  of  a  light  blue 
color,  and  she  had  a  trick  of  moving  them  about  pre- 
cisely as  a  doll's  are  moved  about— mechanically.  Her 
pink  and  white  complexion  glistened,  and  her  face  was 
as  expressionless  as  that  of  a  sphinx.  She  wore  a  shin- 


126-  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

ing  pink  silk,  cut  low  in  the  neck,  with  short  sleeves;  a 
string  of  pearl  beads  encircled  her  neck,  and  a  long, 
white  mantle,  of  cashmere,  streamed  out  behind  her 
when  she  walked,  partly  filling  with  air  like  the  half  of 
an  inflated  balloon. 

Her  aunt  was  dressed  in  a  black  silk  and  was  a  gen- 
teel relic  of  fifty  years  agone. 

They  were  announced  as  Miss  Irena  Black  and  her 
niece,  Miss  Mabel  Vaughn. 

The  before-mentioned  old  gentleman  gave  his  arm  to 
Miss  Vaughn.  Mr.  Alstain  gave  his  to  Mrs.  Morton. 
Merry  bowed  to  Isabel,  and  she  just  rested  the  tips  of 
her  fingers  on  his  coat-sleeve;  while  her  affianced,  Mar- 
cus, was  left  to  take  Miss  Black;  and  soon  they  were  all 
seated  about  the  festive  board.  All  well  understood  that 
this  dinner  was  given  in  honor  of  the  betrothal  of  Isabel 
Morton  and  Marcus  Chesterfield,  the  millionaire;  and, 
consequently,  it  was  very  proper  that  it  should  be  a 
grand  affair.  No  one  understood  this  better  than  Mar- 
cus himself;  and  yet,  as  we  know,  he  had  placed  an- 
other betrothal  ring,  exactly  like  the  one  which  was  on 
Isabel  Morton's  finger,  on  the  finger  of  Jane  Erie,  only 
last  night. 

Do  you,  my  reader,  say  that  he  was  forced,  or  in- 
veigled into  this  act  by  the  wily  Jane? 

In  a  measure  he  was;  but  one  wrong  act  leads  directly 
to  another.  If  he  had  been  firm  and  true  to  his  first 
vows,  he  would  not  have  met,  or  walked,  or  made  pas- 
sionate proposals  to  Miss  Erie.  She  simply  took  ad- 
vantage of  his  weak,  wavering  nature,  to  bind  him  to 
herself. 

Mrs.  Morton  desired  that  he  should  become  the  hus- 
band of  the  fair  Isabel,  simply  because  he  was  rich, 
and  not  for  any  virtues  which  he  might  possess.  Jane 
Erie  desired  him  for  a  husband,  for  the  same  reason. 

Dinner  went  on  merrily,  and  Alstain's  eyes  gloated 
over  Mrs.  Morton's  voluptuous  beauty.  The  old  gentle- 
man had  already  fallen  in  love  with  the  wax  doll,  while 
Merry  cast  timid  glances  at  Isabel;  but,  to  be  on  fa- 
miliar terms  with  her,  he  fancied,  would  be  impossible — 
as  impossible  as  to  come  in  close  contact  with  heaven 
and  its  angels  while  encumbered  with  the  flesh. 


A   MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  127 

Isabel,  occasionally,  glanced  at  her  betrothed,  sitting 
there  so  glum  by  the  side  of  the  black,  stiff,  nearly  silent 
figure  of  Miss  Black.  She  seemed  to  rise  up  grim  by 
his  side,  like  an  ominous,  threatening  shadow.  His  face 
was  sallow  and  pale.  Dark  circles  were  beneath  his 
eyes.  His  hair  glistened  damp  and  thick  above  his  pale 
forehead.  His  hand  trembled  slightly.  His  eyes  glit- 
tered glassily,  for  late  hours  and  dissipation  were  making 
havoc  with  his  nerves.  Every  time  Isabel  glanced  at 
him  she  was  obliged  to  suppress  an  involuntary  sigh. 
Her  pure,  healthy  nature  recoiled  like  a  sensitive  plant 
from  contact  with  him,  or,  even,  the  sight  of  him. 

Each  one  at  the  table  looked  at  him  through  specta- 
cles belonging  exclusively  to  themselves. 

Mrs.  Morton  thought  he  looked  extremely  genteel  and 
distinguished  and  that  his  manners  were  those  of  a  per- 
fect gentleman.  Those  marks  of  weakness  and  dissipa- 
tion, simply  meant  to  her  the  difference  between  gentility 
and  vulgarity,  or  in  other  words,  a  rich  man  and  one 
who  was  in  poverty  or  obliged  to  work  for  his  living; 
and  Mrs.  Morton's  opinions  do  not  stand  alone  in  this 
world  of  ours. 

Isabel,  in  her  youth  arid  inexperience,  did  not  know 
that  Marcus  was  weak  and  dissipated;  but  not  fully 
comprehending  this  with  her  mind,  the  sixth  sense,  which 
some  call  intuition,  was  more  active  on  that  account,  and 
she,  without  reasoning  it  out,  intuitively  knew  all  this, 
or  in  other  words,  felt  it. 

I  would  like  here  to  call  the  reader's  attention  to  one 
fact.  This  sensitive  aura,  which  surrounds  most  people, 
is  a  sure  safeguard,  if  they  will  but  listen  to  its  warning 
voice;  it  is  more  truthful  than  the  eyes,  the  ears,  the 
taste  or  the  smell,  or  actual  contact,  which  is  called  feel- 
ing. This  aura  really  does  feel,  and  communicates  its 
discoveries  to  the  sensorium  more  readily  than  the  sight 
or  hearing,  smell  or  touch;  it  is  fine,  subtle,  spiritual, 
and  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  deceive  it. 

The  doll  looked  at  Marcus  with  round,  innocent  eyes, 
and  secretly  hoped  that  young  Merry  was  worth  a  mil- 
lion and  would  love  her  passionately  forever. 

Alstain  looked  at  Marcus  as  lawful  prey  that  he  ex- 
pected to  fleece,  to  the  fullest  extent,  of  all  he  was 


128  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

worth,  if  he  could  possibly  do  it;  and'  he  would  cudgel 
his  brains,  day  and  night,  to  discover  how  he  might  ac- 
complish it. 

Young  Merry  looked  at  Marcus  as  a  jolly,  generous, 
hale  fellow,  well  met,  who  was  rich  and  could  do  as  he 
pleased  with  his  money,  and  he  meant  to  enjoy  it  with 
him  as  long  as  he  could. 

The  old  man  thought  him  a  gay  Lothario,  and  sighed 
to  think  himself  old  and  consequently  not  able  to  do  like- 
wise. 

Miss  Black  thought  all  ways  but  one  led  down  to  de- 
struction, hell,  and  the  devil,  and  that  one  way  led 
straight  through  the  doors  of  the  good  old  orthodox 
church.  She  had  not  yet  learned  whether  the  young  mil- 
lionaire belonged  to  the  accepted  church  or  not,  conse- 
quently felt  a  little  uncertain  about  him. 

"So  you  intend  to  start  for  the  mines  tomorrow,"  said 
the  old  gentleman,  addressing  himself  to  young  Chester- 
field. 

"Yes,  we  leave  here  tomorrow  morning  for  the  mines. 
I  wish  it  were  possible  for  the  ladies  to  go  with  us,  but 
the  country  is  exceedingly  rough  and  mountainous,  and 
ladies  would  find  it  very  tedious,  besides  it  is  cold  there 
— the  snow  is  quite  deep.  There  is  a  small  town,  sit- 
uated very  near  the  mines,  which  contains  a  comfortable 
hotel,  else  I,  really,  could  not  think  of  going  myself  at 
this  season  of  the  year." 

"Do  you  think  of  selling  the  mines?"  questioned  the 
old  gentleman. 

"If  possible.  That  is  what  takes  me  there  now.  I  am 
informed,  by  my  superintendent,  that  an  English  syndi- 
cate wishes  to  purchase  them,  and  that  my  presence 
there  is  absolutely  imperative." 

Mrs.  Morton's  eyes  sparkled. 

"How  much  has  the  syndicate  offered  for  them?"  she 
asked. 

"Three  millions;  but  I  will  not  take  less  than  five.  If 
I  were  willing  to  sell  them  for  three,  I  could  remain 
where  I  am  and  my  superintendent  would  transact  all 
the  business  for  me;  but  I  think  that  two  millions  are 
worth  looking  after.  The  mines  are  valued  at  five  mil- 
lions, and  I  mean  to  have  what  they  are  worth." 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  129 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE    LAW    GOVERNING   TRUE    MARRIAGE. 

Mrs.  Morton  arched  her  head  and  looked  with  haughty 
eyes  upon  the  assembled  company,  then  they  rested  upon 
the  beautiful  Isabel,  her  daughter,  who  would  be  the 
mistress  of  all  this  wealth — no,  she  herself  would  be  the 
mistress  of  the  wealth,  but  Isabel  would  be  the  means 
through  which  it  would  be  acquired. 

Mrs.  Morton's  heart  beat  high,  but  Isabel  appeared 
cold  and  impassive.  Her  ideal  world  did  not  circle 
around  Marcus  Chesterfield  and  he  could  only  think  of 
women  as  panderers  to  his  love  of  vice,  his  selfishness; 
women  who  would  flatter  his  vanity  and  give  themselves 
up  as  slaves  to  his  will,  to  be  cast  aside  whenever  he 
should  tire  of  them,  as  one  casts  aside  a  toy  and  he 
would  cast  them  aside  with  as  little  compunction. 

But  what  kind  of  an  ideal  world  was  it  which  sur- 
rounded Isabel?  Ah;  it  was  a  pure  and  beautiful  world. 
Isabel's  world  was  like  a  garden  in  spring,  wherein  the 
most  beautiful  flowers  were  budding,  violets  being  in  full 
bloom,  together  with  a  few  other  early,  sweet,  modest 
flowers.  She  did  not  yet  comprehend  herself,  but  her 
nature  turned,  involuntarily,  toward  all  that  was  sweet, 
pure,  beautiful  and  holy. 

Thus  far,  of  course,  her  young  life  had  been  entirely 
subject  to  her  mother.  She  had  been  a  sweet  and  duti- 
ful daughter,  but  time  and  heavenly  sunlight,  would 
eventually  burst  the  garden  of  her  soul  into  beautiful 
and  fragrant  bloom,  and  she  was  not  one  to  allow  any 
noxious  weed  to  grow  or  thrive  within  it.  She  was  no 
more  fitted  to  become  the  mate  of  Marcus  Chesterfield 
than  a  sweet  rose-bud  to  mate  with  an  ill  odored,  pois- 
onous weed,  whose  poison  would  enter  its  heart  and  de- 
stroy it.  Her  virgin  soul  had  never  yet  been  touched  by 
love,  still,  within  the  souls  of  all  maidens  there  is  mir- 
rored a  faint  outline  of  the  other  self— the  other  half 
to  which  it  must  be  united  in  order  to  complete  the  one 
perfect  whole, 


130  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

I  am  well  aware  that  some  of  our  would-be-wise  men 
and  women  take  exception  to  the  idea  that  one  half 
must  find  the  other  real  half  of  itself  before  they  are 
really  and  truly  a  perfect  whole.  They  cry  out,  "free 
love"  and  all  sorts  of  bad  names;  but,  did  that  ever 
change  an  eternal  truth?  Would  these  wise  ones  think 
it  better  that  this  beautiful  girl  should  be  united  to 
this  reckless,  selfish,  dissipated  young  man,  whose  very 
presence  was  repulsive  to  her — whose  nature  could  not 
meet  hers  at  any  point  without  discord  and  recoil? 

But  I  hear  some  of  these  wise  ones  say,  "If  they  were 
to  marry  they  should  each  strive  to  bear  with  the  other's 
faults — bear  and  forbear — that  is  our  motto.  Love  should 
not  be  free,  else  we  shall  be  called  free  lovers."  These 
people  would  unite  the  lion  and  the  lamb,  and  then  ask 
them  to  lie  down  peacefully  together  and  bear  and  for- 
bear with  each  other's  faults.  The  lamb  might  look  with 
fearful,  innocent  eyes  at  the  lion  and  consequently  keep 
very  quiet;  but  we  think  that  the  lion  would,  most  as- 
suredly, destroy  the  lamb,  given  time  and  opportunity. 
Such  marriages  are  sacrificial.  One  must  surely  be  sac- 
rificed to  the  other.  True  marriage  should  not  be  a 
sacrifice  on  either  side,  but  it  should  be  the  blending  of 
two  halves  into  one  harmonious  whole;  and,  unless  this 
other  half  exists,  there  could  be  no  perfect  marriages. 

We  contend  that  every  human  being  has  a  true  coun- 
terpart of  itself  and  that  it  can  never  be  entirely  happy 
with  any  other.  The  world  may  not  be  ready  to  receive 
this  truth,  but  like  all  truths  it  has  begun  to  dawn  upon 
the  world,  not  yet  thoroughly  understood  or  compre- 
hended. Instead  of  combating  and  striving  to  suppress 
the  light  of  a  grand  truth,  as  some  of  our  would-be-wise 
ones  do,  why  not  strive  to  grasp  and  understand  it? 

These  very  ones  who  strive  to  combat  a  great  funda- 
mental truth,  think  they  are  trying  to  make  the  world 
better;  but,  in  our  opinion,  they  have  the  cart  before 
the  horse.  They  think  they  are  making  the  world  better; 
their  intentions  are  good.  Then  why  not  give  others  the 
credit  of  good  intentions  also?  Mrs.  Morton  thought  she 
was  right.  She  believed  that  she  was  urging  her  daugh- 
ter to  marry  just  as  she  ought  to  marry.  She  did  not 
take  the  soul  into  consideration;  and  no  matter  what 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  131 

misery  her  daughter  might  have  endured  after  marriage, 
she  would  have  said,  like  some  of  these  other  wise  ones, 
"Oh,  they  should  bear  and  forbear,"  but  the  misery  and 
forbearance  would  have  been  all  one  one  side.  Why  not 
try  to  find  out  the  great  law  of  harmonious  marriage 
and  then  teach  it  to  our  young  men  and  maidens  that 
their  unions  may  be  happy  and  joyful  and  their  children 
beautiful  and  good?  We  shall  now  try  to  show  our 
readers  the  soul,  or  interior  being,  the  spiritual  being  of 
two  separate  halves  that  had  not  yet  met — who  were 
not  yet  at  all  acquainted  with  each  other. 

The  virgin  soul  of  Isabel  Morton  had  often  dreamed  of 
love.  Within  the  depths  of  her  being  she  saw  mirrored 
the  form  of  the  other  half  of  herself— young,  fresh, 
noble,  manly.  The  eyes  of  this  ideal  often  seemed  to  look 
into  hers,  clear,  truthful,  and  innocent  as  her  own.  He 
was  of  medium  height,  well  formed,  strong  and  full  of 
manly  grace.  This  ideal  would  never  stoop  to  a  mean, 
dishonorable  or  degrading  act  of  any  kind.  He  appeared 
to  her  to  have  talents  of  various  kinds — a  man  who 
would  constantly  reach  upward  toward  the  highest  pos- 
sible attainments.  She  could  not  picture  him  to  herself 
as  a  rich  man,  but  as  one  who  would  attain  to  wealth 
through  earnest  endeavors,  for,  she  reasoned  well,  that 
one  already  rich  would  have  no  incentive  to  exert  him- 
self, and  she  could  neither  love  nor  respect  a  supine  man. 
She  would  take  a  being,  like  the  foregoing,  by  the  hand 
and  walk  by  his  side  his  equal,  sharing  with  him  through 
weal  or  woe,  riches  or  poverty.  She  did  not  desire  to  be 
a  pet  or  a  toy,  but  the  other  half— the  female  half— or, 
in  other  words,  the  negative  of  her  own  positive — the 
right  positive  and  negative  joined  as  one.  She  could 
not,  in  her  mind,  separate  herself  and  this  positive  other 
self  into  two  beings,  but  as  though  two  forms  blended 
into  one  being. 

When  she  looked  at  Marcus  Chesterfield,  a  strange 
mist  crept  into  her  eyes.  His  face  and  form  looked  like 
this  mirrored  image,  and  yet  it  was  not  he.  No;  her 
ideal  bore  no  marks  of  dissipation  about  him.  She  really 
did  not  know  that  young  Chesterfield  was  dissipated, 
but  she  felt  it  with  this  sixth  sense  of  hers.  Her  ideal's 
face  looked  bright  and  fresh,  the  eyes  clear  and  truth- 


132  MARK  CHESTEK:    OK 

ful,  whereas  young  Chesterfield's  was  sallow,  his  eyes 
wore  a  shifting,  uneasy  expression,  and  the  grandeur 
and  nobility  of  noble,  strong,  innocent  manhood,  were 
wanting. 

She  could  not  understand  the  puzzle — why  his  form, 
features  and  general  make-up  were  so  much  like  those 
of  the  pictured  image  within  her  soul.  If  she  had  then 
known  all  that  the  reader  knows,  she  would  not  now 
have  been  the  betrothed  wife  of  Marcus  Chesterfield. 
Our  young  men  and  maidens  need  teaching  on  the  all 
important  subject  of  matrimony.  It  is  the  one  great 
event  in  the  life  of  either  man  or  woman,  and  ought  not 
to  be  entered  into  rashly.  It  is  the  great  event  which 
peoples  the  world;  and  yet,  there  is  no  law  of  life  so 
little  understood  as  the  marriage  law,  that  is,  the  true 
law  of  marriage  as  it  exists  within  the  soul  of  man.  and 
woman. 

Most  young  ladies  marry  for  almost  any  reason  but 
the  right  one;  most  of  them  do  not  wish  to  marry  unless 
the  young  man  is  in  good  circumstances,  or  rich,  and  a 
money  consideration  never  had  anything  to  do  with  the 
true  law  of  marriage.  Some  marry  because  of  passional 
attraction;  the  young  lady,  perhaps,  is  very  beautiful, 
the  young  gentleman  does  not  ask  himself,  "Will  this 
young  lady  prove  to  be  a  match  for  my  inner  being — my 
soul?"  neither  does  the  young  lady  stop  to  ask,  "Does 
this  young  gentleman  fulfil,  in  all  respects,  the  measure 
of  my  soul's  ideal?"  No;  but  he  says,  "Oh,  how  beau- 
tiful she  is!"  knowing  nothing  of  her  mind,  whether  it 
is  beautiful  or  not;  and  she  says,  "I  wonder  if  he  will 
give  me  a  lovely  home  and  then  allow  me  to  do  as  I 
please?" 

After  marriage  they  find  that  they  do  not  think  alike 
in  anything;  their  inner  natures  are  as  far  apart  as  the 
poles.  After  a  short  time  they  take  no  pleasure  in  each 
other's  society.  The  young  lady  is,  perhaps,  vain  and 
frivolous;  the  young  man,  oftener  than  otherwise,  more 
or  less  given  to  vice  and  dissipation.  Her  beauty  be- 
comes stale  in  his  eyes,  and  as  he  no  longer  pets  her,  or 
flatters  her  vanity,  she  repines  and  becomes  fretful. 
They  now  find  they  do  not  think  alike  on  any  subject; 
this  leads  to  their  becoming  contradictory;  they  are  con- 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  133 

tinually  bickering  and  contradicting  each  other.  At  last, 
they  quarrel  outright,  and  in  a  year  or  two,  at  most, 
they  quarrel  continually  and  violently;  next  conies  the 
divorce. 

Now  how  much  better  to  understand  the  true  law 
which  governs  marriage,  than  such  a  state  of  things  as 
exists  at  the  present,  but  we  hope,  in  this  story,  to 
show  how  the  young  should  marry.  We  like  to  show 
the  inner  law  controlling  true  marriage. 


134  MARK  CHESTER:    OK 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

THE    MYSTERIOUS    SPECTRE. 

The  dinner  at  the  Morton  House  passed  off  with  great 
eclat,  and  after  dinner  music  and  cards.  At  first  they 
played  simply  for  amusement,  then  Alstain  proposed 
that  they  play  for  small  stakes.  "It  was  so  much  more 
exciting,  giving  zest  to  the  games,  and  as  the  stakes 
were  so  small,  no  one  would  be  greatly  injured  thereby." 

Miss  Black  and  her  niece,  together  with  the  old  gen- 
tleman, now  retired  to  their  several  apartments.  Mr. 
MacMerry,  Mr.  Alstain  and  Marcus  Chesterfield  were 
the  only  ones  left,  except  Mrs.  Morton  and  Isabel. 

Mrs.  Morton  was  not  at  all  averse  to  small  gambling, 
but  Isabel  looked  upon  it  with  great  disfavor  and  would 
not  join  in  the  game;  she  sat  apart  in  a  drooping  and 
pensive  attitude,  and  shortly  after,  asked  to  be  excused 
and  retired  to  her  own  room.  The  party  below  stairs 
played  on,  regardless  of  time.  It  was  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning  before  they  broke  up  and  took  their  depart- 
ure; and  another  ten  dollars  had  found  its  way  into  Al- 
stain's  pocket — transferred  from  the  young  millionaire's 
thence — and  a  large  quantity  of  champagne  had  disap- 
peared. In  the  meantime,  Isabel,  on  going  to  her  room, 
drooped  more  dejectedly  than  ever,  and  as  she  laid  her 
weary  head  on  her  pillow  she  thought:  "I  do  not  love 
Marcus  Chesterfield.  I  could  not  love  any  man  who 
cared  to  gamble,  no  matter  for  how  small  a  sum.  What 
a  quantity  of  wine  and  champagne  he  drank!  Why,  if 
he  were  to  continue  to  driak,  as  he  did  this  evening,  he 
would  soon  become  a  sot.  I  begged  mother  not  to  have 
wine  or  champagne  with  the  dinner;  but  she  would  not 
listen  to  me.  She  said  she  could  not  think  of  giving  a 
dinner  so  meanly — that  Marcus  was  accustomed  to  the 
best— and  what  would  he  think  to  be  invited  to  a  dinner 
without  wine,  especially  one  given  by  her  in  honor  of 
our  betrothal?  I  feel  that  if  I  am  ever  weak  enough  to 
yield  to  her  wishes,  and  marry  Marcus  Chesterfield,  that 
my  life  will  be  most  wretched  in  spite  of  his  millions. 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  135 

Oh!  I  would  much  rather  marry  a  poor  man  who  had 
his  way  to  make  in  the  world;  a  man  whom  I  could  love 
and  honor  above  all  others;  a  man  who  tonight  would 
have  refused  to  drink  wine;  a  man  who  would  have 
refused  to  play  cards  at  all  or,  if  he  consented  to  play 
one  or  two  games  for  amusement,  he  would  not,  on  any 
account,  have  gambled,  even  for  the  smallest  sum.  Oh, 
we  can  never  be  happy!  We  do  not  think  alike.  He 
did  not  seem  to  care  much  for  my  music,  and  music  is 
the  breath  of  my  soul.  He  tells  me  that  he  could  never 
concentrate  his  iniiid,  or  his  energies  enough  to  become 
even  a  passable  player;  and  I  admire  strength  of  will 
and  purpose  in  a  man.  I  cannot  discover  that  he  has 
any  particular  talent,  and  I  am  sure  that  his  soul  is 
poverty  stricken.  I  would  much  rather  a  young  man 
would  be  poor  in  pocket  and  rich  in  soul,  or  spiritual 
power. 

"My  betrothed  husband  is  in  the  house,  and  yet  I 
feel  more  lonely  and  desolate,  by  far,  than  if  he  were 
not.  Certainly  a  girl  ought  not  to  feel  this  way  toward 
a  man  whom  she  expects  to  marry— to  whom  she  is 
affianced."  And  the  girl  fell  asleep  with  a  sigh  and  a 
tear. 

***** 

After  her  guests  had  left  the  house,  Mrs.  Morton  re- 
tired to  her  chamber.  She  had  sipped  considerable 
champagne,  herself,  and  felt  a  little  giddy  in  conse- 
quence; so,  when  she  had  donned  a  flowing  white  wrap- 
per, she  threw  herself  into  her  large  arm  chair  and  gazed 
dreamily  into  the  fire.  Her  lofty  ambitions  were  in  a 
fair  way  to  meet  with  fulfilment,  so  she  thought. 

"My  future  son-in-law  enjoyed  himself  well  tonight," 
she  mused.  "He  can  now  see  what  a  grand  mother-in- 
law  I  shall  be  to  him.  How  very  foolish  for  young  men 
to  think  a  mother-in-law  in  the  way.  Really,  I  do  not 
know  what  he  would  do  without  me.  Isabel  seems  to 
take  so  little  interest  in  her  own  welfare — and,  how  in- 
terested that  friend  of  his  seemed  to  be  in  me.  Really, 
he  said  the  most  flattering  things  to  me.  It  makes  me 
feel  almost  like  a  girl  once  more.  It  would  be  strange, 
would  it  not,  if  he  should  want  to  marry  me?  I  am  not 
so  old,  after  all— only  forty— but,  unless  his  wealth  can 


136  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

match  that  of  my  daughter's  affianced,  I  certainly  could 
not  marry  him.  I  should  much  prefer  being  at  the  head 
of  Isabel's  princely  establishment  unless  he  should  prove 
to  be  a  millionaire  also.  I  could  never  think  seriously  of 
him  otherwise.  I  must  ask  Marcus  about  him. 

"How  pleased  young  Merry  seemed  with  Miss  Vaughn. 
Perhaps  he  is  a  rich  man  too,  for  certainly  Marcus  would 
not  associate  with  any  other.  Miss  Black  can  leave  her 
niece  next  to  nothing.  How  important,  then,  that  Miss 
Vaughn  should  marry  a  wealthy  man.  Well,  if  it  turns 
out  as  I  think  it  may,  they  will  have  me  to  thank,  and 
being  guests  at  the  Morton  House  will  prove  to  them  to 
have  been  a  golden  nest.  I  feel  vexed  with  Isabel  for 
refusing  to  play,  and  she  would  not  taste  champagne, 
either;  and  to  think  of  her  leaving  our  guests  so  early 
in  the  evening.  To  be  sure,  she  pleaded  headache,  never- 
theless I  doubted  the  headache  very  much. 

"Well,  she  is  pledged  to  Marcus,  that  is  one  comfort, 
and  I  understand  her  well  enough  to  know  that  she  will 
not  break  her  promise  lightly,  consequently,  I  have  noth- 
ing to  fear." — "Indeed,  madam!  Have  you  not?" 

A  voice  had  sounded  in  her  ear— a  voice  had  appar- 
ently spoken  these  words — but  the  voice  was  far  away 
and  seemed  to  be  borne  to  her  ears  with  the  boom  of 
the  restless  waves  that  were  dashing  with  resistless 
perseverance  against  the  beach.  The  softened  roar  of 
the  ocean  could  always  be  heard  at  the  Morton  House, 
and  again,— "Indeed,  madam!  Have  you  not?  Have 
you  taken  me  into  consideration,  proud  mother — me, 
Jane  Erie?"  The  voice  sounded  nearer.  It  was  in  the 
room,  and  there— O!  mysterious,  dreadful  thing!— there 
stood  that  spectral  form  she  had  seen  once  before.  She 
could  have  met  the  real  Jane  without  fear;  she  could 
have  taunted  and  insulted  her  if  need  be,  but  this  spec- 
tral thing  was  altogether  different;  and  yet,  after  all, 
this  spectre  was  the  real  and  the  other  but  the  dissolv- 
ing shadow— this  spectre  was  the  real  Jane,  while  her 
body  was  the  covering  which  would  be,  sooner  or  later, 
cast  aside. 

"Madam,"  said  the  voice  once  more,  "look!"  and  the 
spectre  held  up  her  hand.  "Look  at  this  ring;  the  very 
counterpart  of  the  one  your  daughter  wears.  Marcus 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  137 

Chesterfield  has  pledged  his  troth  to  me,  and  I  will  hold 
him  to  his  vow  though  the  world  were  rent  asunder!  I 
will  hold  him  to  his  vow,  though  the  nether  world  and 
all  its  legions  of  satanic  imps  were  marshaled  against 
me.  I  know  what  you  would  say,  old  lady.  That  Isabel's 
betrothal  was  first,  consequently  would  be  valid;  but  I 
will  prove  that  the  last  promise  of  a  man  is  the  true  and 
valid  one,  showing,  as  it  certainly  does,  that  he  became 
weary  of  his  first  choice  and  therefore  sought  a  mate 
more  congenial  to  him. 

"Madam;  I  shall  win.  Be  sure  of  that,"  and  the 
spectre  vanished  with  a  hollow,  mocking  laugh. 

"O!  Great  God!"  sighed  Mrs.  Morton.  "What  mystery 
is  this?  Twice  that  creature  has  appeared  before  me. 
It  is,  simply,  witchcraft.  She  is  a  witch,  and  ought  to 
be  burnt  or  gibbeted.  The  Bible  says  a  witch  ought  not 
to  be  allowed  to  live.  But  I  will  cast  this  visionary 
rhing  out  of  my  mind;  and,  let  Jane  Erie  beware  how 
she  crosses  my  path,  or  she  shall  yet  taste  my  revenge! 
I  am  inclined  to  think  this  spectral  form  is  something 
more  than  mere  fancy  on  my  part." 


138  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

OFF   TO   THE  MINES. 

The  next  day  Marcus  Chesterfield  and  his  two  friends 
started  for  the  mines.  But  it  is  not  our  intention  to  go 
to  the  mines  with  them.  We  prefer  to  stay  at  Redondo 
and  watch  the  progress  of  Mark  Chester  and  the  family 
of  Nathaniel  Kester,  the  old  Yankee  fisherman;  and  we 
also  desire  to  keep  an  eye  on  Mrs.  Morton  and  Isabel. 

It  was  very  uncertain  how  long  Marcus  Chesterfield 
might  find  it  necessary  to  remain  at  the  mining  camp. 
On  this  day,  also,  the  old  fisherman  took  to  himself  a 
wife. 

Mrs.  Erie  expected  that  Jane  would  be  bitterly  opposed 
to  her  marriage;  but,  contrary  to  all  expectations,  she 
seemed  rather  pleased  than  otherwise,  and  treated  the 
old  man  with  greater  respect  than  she  had  ever  done 
before. 

The  cottage  was  painted  a  soft  dove  color;  the  acre  of 
ground  belonging  to  it  was  fenced  in;  trees  were  set  out; 
a  pretty  trellis  was  erected  over  the  door  and  porch; 
roses  were  planted;  the  front  yard  was  sown  with  grass 
seed  for  a  lawn.  Uncle  Kester  had  money  enough  to 
pay  for  the  cottage,  and  make  all  necessary  improve- 
ments. Mrs.  Erie  grew  plump  and  comely  with  happi- 
ness and  contentment.  Many  pretty  and  convenient 
things  were  added  to  the  furnishing  of  the  house,  and 
the  old  fisherman  looked  more  like  a  civilized  being  than 
he  did  when  he  made  the  boat  and  sands  of  the  shore 
his  home.  Mrs.  Kester  had  her  horse  and  buggy,  and 
Jane  shared  many  a  pleasant  drive  with  her  mother. 

During  much  of  this  time  Mark  had  been  alone  on  the 
fishing  grounds.  He  had  worked  like  a  beaver  and  had 
made  considerable  money;  but,  when  everything  was  set- 
tled satisfactorily  at  home,  the  old  man  returned  to  his 
boat  and  to  his  employment  of  fishing  for  "yaller-tails." 

Thus,  four  rather  uneventful  weeks  passed  by.  Mark 
went  out  in  the  boat  regularly  each  morning  and  re- 
turned each  evening  with  a  fine  lot  of  fish.  He  still  ate 


A    MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  139 

his  dinner  on  the  beach  and  took  his  breakfast  at  the 
hotel.  On  bright  moonlight  niglits  he  often  walked  about 
the  town  and  some  distance  beyond  it — out  where  the 
fields  were  lying  asleep  in  the  moonlight.  He  particu- 
larly noticed  one  large  field  of  about  a  hundred  acres— 
a  beautiful  level  tract  of  land — which  gave  evidence  of 
having  been,  in  former  seasons,  sown  with  wheat  or  bar- 
ley. He  noticed  a  sign  near  the  entrance  to  the  field, 
and  on  going  to  it  he  read  by  the  moonlight:  "This  Field 
To  Let."  Every  time  he  strolled  out  in  this  way,  he 
passed  the  Morton  house,  and,  involuntarily,  his  eyes 
sought  the  window  where  he  had,  on  one  occasion,  no- 
ticed the  desponding  figure  of  that  young  girl,  whom  he 
now  knew  to  be  Isabel  Morton.  The  house  was  always 
alight,  and  looked  attractive  and  cheerful. 

He  had,  by  this  time,  become  acquainted  with  much 
that  was  transpiring  around  him.  He  knew  that  Isabel 
Morton  was  betrothed  to  Marcus  Chesterfield.  The  old 
fisherman  had  also  told  him  Jane's  story;  but  he  had 
never  yet  met  Isabel  Morton  face  to  face.  He  knew  she 
was  a  very  beautiful  girl  from  the  glimpse  he  had  of  her 
on  the  evening  of  his  arrival  at  the  hotel.  He  also  knew 
that  she  was  not  happy,  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  he 
could  not  keep  his  mind  from  dwelling  upon  her.  He 
spent  the  larger  part  of  his  evenings  writing,  and  his 
book  grew  apace.  He  said  in  his  heart  that  he  would 
write  a  good  book — one  that  should  influence  those  who 
read  it  to  become  better  men  and  women— and  his  hero 
should  be  the  highest  ideal  that  dwelt  within  his  soul. 
He  would  look  within  and  behold  the  mirrored  image  of 
one  whom  he  could  love  and  adore — the  highest  type  of 
his  ideal  of  womanhood. 

We  have  already  described  Isabel  Morton  to  the 
reader,  and  the  description  of  Mark  Chester's  ideal  tal- 
lied exactly  with  that  of  Isabel  Morton;  and,  of  course, 
his  hero  was  a  poverty-stricken  young  man  who  meant 
to,  and  should,  accomplish  great  things.  He  should  be  as 
handsome  as  Apollo  and  as  strong  as  Hercules,  and  he 
should  become  a  millionaire  through  his  own  efforts  and 
lay  kis  wealth  at  the  feet  of  his  beautiful  ideal  love. 

He  thought  if  he  were  indeed  to  become  rich,  he  would 
like  to  place  his  money  in  such  a  way  as  would  benefit 


140  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

mankind  in  general.  He  did  not  know,  as  yet,  just  how 
he  should  spend  his  money — much  would  depend  on  his 
future  love — for  he  felt  sure  he  should  find  her,  some 
time. 

It  was  now  the  first  day  of  February  and  Mark 
counted  up  his  earnings  for  the  month,  or  that  portion 
of  his  earnings  which  he  had  been  able  to  save,  and  he 
had  precisely  two  hundred  dollars. 

"Not  so  bad,"  he  thought.  "Two  hundred  dollars,  if 
put  to  the  best  possible  use,  may  bring  me  large  returns; 
but,  whatever  use  I  put  them  to,  they  shall,  in  some 
way,  benefit  the  poor  man  who  has,  perhaps,  a  family 
depending  on  him  for  support.  But  for  this  kindhearted 
old  fisherman,  I,  myself,  might  now  be  tramping  the 
streets  of  Redondo  or  Los  Angeles,  without  employment 
and  homeless.  I  will  find  a  way  to  benefit  other  men  as 
he  has  benefited  me." 

That  night,  in  his  dreams,  he  seemed  to  be  walking  in 
the  large  field  before  mentioned;  and,  as  he  walked 
along,  gazing  at  the  ground,  he  discovered  that  it  was 
scattered  over  with  golden  coins,  and  he  picked  up,  one 
after  another,  five  dollar  gold  pieces,  ten  dollar  gold 
pieces,  twenty  dollar  gold  pieces,  until  his  pockets  could 
hold  no  more  and  both  hands  were  filled.  la  his  dream, 
then,  he  sat  down  on  a  hillock  and  counted  his  treasure: 
just  three  thousand  dollars.  He  awoke  with  a  start. 

What  could  the  dream  portend. 

As  he  looked  toward  the  foot  of  the  bed,  he  discerned 
a  shining  mist.  Soon  it  took  form,  or,  rather,  a  form 
appeared  in  the  centre  of  it,  the  misty  light  surrounding 
it  like  a  halo,  and,  as  he  gazed,  he  recognized  the  form 
of  his  own  dear  mother.  She  smiled  lovingly  upon  him 
and  stretched  forth  her  beautiful  arms  as  though  to  em- 
brace him;  her  lips  moved;  a  soft  voice  issued  from 
them. 

"My  son,  my  dear  boy!  It  is  I,  your  mother.  Listen 
to  rne.  Because  you  desire  to  benefit  your  fellows,  your 
wishes  shall  be  granted.  Hire  that  field.  All  shall  be 
well." 

The  form  melted  slowly  away  and  with  a  happy  heart 
Mark  fell  asleep.  Once  more  he  dreamed  of  the  field, 
but  this  time  every  inch  of  its  surface  was  covered  with 


A    MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  141 

waving  grain.  The  spirit  of  his  loving  mother  had  given 
him  a  clue.  O,  how  happy  it  made  him  to  think  that 
she  could  still  watch  over  him,  help  him,  and  show  him 
what  he  ought  to  do,  not  only  to  benefit  himself,  but 
others. 

The  next  day  while  he  and  the  old  fisherman  were 
rocking  on  the  waves,  Mark  said: 

"Uncle  Kestor,  I  would  like,  in  some  way,  to  make 
more  money  than  I  can  at  this  work."  Then  he  related 
his  dream,  and  told  his  foster  father  how  he  saw  the 
spirit  form  of  his  own  dear  mother,  and  what  she  said 
to  him. 

Now  the  old  fisherman  was  not  one  of  those  men  who 
pooh-pooh  at  youth  and  its  dreams;  for  he  knew,  full 
well,  that  but  for  the  hopefulness  and  ambition  of  youth 
and  its  feeling  of  certainty  of  success,  very  little  would 
be  accomplished  in  this  world,  and  he  fully  believed  that 
Mark's  mother  had  appeared  to  him,  to  help  him,  for  had 
not  his  own  ]Molly  watched  over  him  ever  since  she  left 
him,  all  so  broken-hearted  and  lonely,  on  old  Yarmouth 
beach? 

"Wall,  now,  lad;  I'll  tell  yer  jest  what  I  think  it  all 
means.  Yer  see,  with  good  management,  yer  kin  make 
a  heap  o'  money  outen  thet  thar  field.  Now,  sonny,  let's 
reckon  a  bit.  Yer  kin  hire  thet  thar  field  for  two  dollars 
an  acre;  an'  yer  say  there's  a  hunderd  acres  in  it.  Ther 
rainy  season  is  jest  a  comin'  on,  an'  we  hev  hed  a  num- 
ber of  purty  good  showers  a'  ready.  It's  time  thet  thar 
field  wus  plowed  an'  sowed  this  minit.  Now  ef  thar's  a 
hunderd  acres  in  thet  thar  field,  yer  kin  hire  it  fur  two 
hunderd  dollars,  an'  yer  hev  got  jest  thet  an'  no  more  nor 
no  less.  Now  yer  go  an'  see  thet  thar  man,  es  hes  thet 
thar  field  to  rent,  this  very  evenin',  arter  yer  git  through 
here,  an'  yer'll  git  ther  field,  sure;  an'  yer  say  ter  him, 
now  I'll  gin  yer  one  hunderd  dollars  down,  an'  a  nuther 
hunderd  when  I  sell  my  crop.  Now  yer'll  want  about  a 
hunderd  sacks  o'  barley  ter  sow  it  with,  an'  it  '11  cost 
yer  sumwhar  in  the  naborhood  of  a  dollar  a  sack.  I 
think  yer'd  better  take  a  day  off  termorrer — yer  shan't 
lose  anything,  fur  we  share  an'  share  alike — an'  I  didn't 
lose  nuthin'  ther  day  I  got  married  ter  thet  thar  sweet 


142  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

little  womern  up  thar  at  ther  nest,  es  I  calls  it,  fur  it  is 
a  purty  nest  now,  ain't  it?" 

"It  certainly  is,  Uncle  Kester." 

"Wall,  then,  es  I  wus  a  sayin',  yer  take  a  day  off  ter- 
morrer,  an'  hire  yer  field,  an'  go  an'  buy  thet  thar  hun- 
derd  sacks  o'  barley,  an'  yer  pay  down  fifty  dollars  an' 
pay  ther  rest  arter  yer  reap;  then  yer  jest  go  over  thar, 
ter  thet  thar  settlement,  whar  them  poor  men  an'  ther 
famblies  be,  an'  jest  set  urn  a  wurk  in  yer  field  a  plowin' 
an'  a  so  win'  of  it.  Sow  it  down  ter  barly  hay,  my  boy; 
then  yer  jest  keep  rite  on  a  fishia'  with  me,  an'  make  all 
ther  money  yer  kin.  Yer  '11  still  hev  fifty  dollars  so  thet 
yer  kin  pay  yer  men  at  nite,  an'  they  kin  cum  rite  here 
on  ther  beach  an'  git  it,  while  ye  air  a  eatin*  o'  yer  bite 
an'  sup. 

"Ther  season,  so  fur,  hes  ben  so  wet  an'  rainy  thet 
yer'll  git  a  good  crop.  Now  let's  reckon,  my  lad.  Thar's 
one  hundred  acres.  Yer'll  git  on  a  average  three  tons  per 
acre;  thet'll  make  three  hundred  ton  o'  good  barley  hay; 
thet  kind  o'  hay  is  a  bringin'  ten  dollars  a  ton  now,  an' 
it  wunt  be  no  cheaper'n  thet.  Yer'll  make  three  thou- 
san' dollars  clean  cash.  Now  it  wunt  cost  yer  no  more'n 
one  thousan'  dollars  fur  laber,  an'  pay  yer  men  well,  tew; 
then  yer'll  be  airnin'  money  here  all  on  ther  time — an' 
wunt  a  thousan'  dollars  make  ther  harts  o'  them  thar— 
an'  ther  famblies— glad ?  Yer  bet  it  will! 

"Now,  lad,  when  everything's  paid,  yer'll  hev  two 
thousan'  dollars  clean  gain,  besides  all  thet  yer  kin  aim 
here  a  fishin',  an'  thet's  what  yer  angel  marm  meant  fur 
ter  tell  yer,  an'  thet's  what  yer  dream  pinted  at.  Now 
yer'll  hev  thet  thar  land  fur  a  year,  fur  two  dollars 
a  acre,  an'  arter  yer  barley's  cut,  yer  kin  plant  it  ter 
Yankee  beans— an'  ther  lord  knows  how  many  beans 
yer'll  git— fur  I  can't  tell  yer;  an'  yer  jest  keep  them 
men  outen  thar  ter  wurk,  an'  put  bread  inter  ther  starv- 
in'  mouths  o*  them  thar  childern." 

"Oh,  Uncle  Kester!  How  good — how  very  good  you 
are  to  tell  me  all  this,  for  I  am  a  stranger  to  this  part  of 
the  world,  and  without  your  advice  should  not  know  how 
to  manage.  Why  did  you  not  do  something  of  this  kind 
yourself?" 

"Wall,  it's  jest  this  ere  way,  yer  see.    I  wus  born  in 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  143 

one  o'  them  thar  tishin'  smacks  thet  lay  at  anchor  off  old 
Yarmuth!  banks,  an'  I  hev  ben  a  rocked  on  ther  cradle 
er  ther  deep  ever  sence.  Ther  sea,  an'  Molly,  an'  them 
thar  yaller-tails  hes  more  atracshins  fur  me  then  ther 
fields  er  ther  barley  dew.  I'd  git  humsick,  es  sure  es  yer 
live,  an'  when  I  hed  no  pardner  it  wus  about  all  I  cud 
dew  ter  ketch  them  thar  fish  an'  clean  um,  an*  sell  urn; 
but  they  say,  in  union  thar's  strength,  an  now  thet  you 
an'  I  air  pardners,  we  hev  more  strength — an'  visy  versy, 
I 


144  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THEY  MEET   AT  LAST. 

Mark  followed  the  old  man's  advice;  and  when  the 
poor  men  at  the  settlement  of  shanties  and  tents,  heard 
that  their  labor  was  required  in  the  field,  they  thronged 
the  beach  at  night,  after  the  old  fisherman  and  Mark  had 
landed.  But  Mr.  Kester  and  Mark  were  very  careful  to 
employ  those  who  needed  the  work,  instead  of  those  who 
could  earn  money  in  some  other  way. 

Mark  had,  of  course,  already  hired  the  field,  and  now 
he  hired  ploughing  and  sowing  machines,  together  with 
the  horses  to  run  them;  his  barley  was  purchased,  and  in 
two  weeks  more  his  field  was  as  green  as  possible,  and 
really  presented  a  beautiful  sight.  Not  many  weeks 
thereafter,  the  great  field  was  a  waving  mass  of  thick 
barley,  completely  headed  out. 

Every  night,  when  there  was  a  moon,  Mark  visited  his 
field;  and  often  the  old  fisherman  went  with  him,  that  he 
might  see  that  the  work  was  perfectly  done. 

The  seasons  in  Southern  California  are  about  two 
months  earlier  than  in  more  northern  climes.  It  was 
now  March,  and  the  whole  country  was  green  and  beau- 
tiful. Roses  and  calla-lilies  were  plentiful  everywhere. 
The  whole  country  was  a  vast  garden  of  beauty.  The 
mountains  and  hills  were  clothed  with  verdure.  Many 
of  the  houses  and  cottages  were  nearly  hidden  from 
sight  by  flowers  and  fragrant  vines.  The  vast  groves  of 
orange  trees  were  filled  with  sweet  blossoms.  The  apricot 
trees  were  all  clothed  in  white  like  a  bridal  array.  The 
peach  trees  were  covered  with  pink  blossoms.  Immense 
barley  fields  waved  their  tasseled  heads  of  grain  in  the 
fragrant  breeze.  The  sky  wept  and  laughed  by  turns, 
and  on  Sundays,  when  Mark  remained  on  shore,  he 
thought  that  Paradise  could  not  be  more  beautiful. 

The  meadow  larks  were  singing,  the  mocking  birds  had 
just  commenced  their  roundelays,  and  everything  was 
glad;  for  the  rains  had  been  plentiful  this  season,  which 
is  not  always  the  case  in  this  fair  land. 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  145 

Mark  Chester  was  as  busy  as  he  could  be,  and  conse- 
quently as  happy  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  mortal  man.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Kester  were  very  busy  and  happy  also. 

Now  that  Marcus  Chesterfield  was  away,  Isabel  Mor- 
ton breathed  more  freely.  She  became  cheerful  and 
happy;  tripped  around  the  house  and  garden  like  the 
beautiful  fairy  that  she  was.  But  Mark  Chester  and 
Isabel  Morton  were  destined  to  meet.  It  would  be  a  re- 
markable incident  if  they  did  not,  in  a  town  of  such 
small  dimensions  as  Redondo. 

Isabel  Morton  knew  how  to  sing.  She  had  a  fine  voice 
and  consequently  made  one  of  the  choir  in  the  principal 
church  of  Redondo. 

Mark  Chester  was  also  a  fine  singer,  having  a  deep 
bass  voice.  The  leader  of  the  church  choir  boarded  at 
the  hotel.  Mark  and  this  gentleman  became  acquainted, 
and  the  choir  leader  soon  discovered  that  Mark  knew 
how  to  sing;  he  therefore  invited  him  to  join  the  church 
choir  which  Mark  did,  for  he  had  not  the  slightest  in- 
tention of  becoming  a  recluse — he  intended  to  be  at  one- 
ness with  the  world  and  make  of  himself  all  that  he 
could  possibly  be;  he  meant,  also,  to  be  a  power  in  the 
world  if  he  could;  but,  at  the  same  time,  he  would  en- 
deavor to  put  whatever  talents  he  might  possess  to  the 
best  use  he  could  toward  helping  all  mankind.  He 
wanted  to  leave  the  world  better  for  having  lived  in  it. 
He  knew  how  to  sing  and  had  a  good  voice;  he  would 
help  to  make  the  world  happier  by  giving  forth  the  best 
music  he  was  capable  of,  and  so  one  Sunday  in  April, 
thef  choir  had  a  new  member,  and  the  new  member  was 
as  handsome  as  a  man  could  well  be— a  fine,  robust,  yet 
genteel  looking  young  man. 

When  Isabel  Morton  glanced  at  the  new  comer  her 
heart  gave  a  bound.  Surely  he  must  be  Marcus  Chester- 
field's twin  brother!  In  form  and  feature  they  were  al- 
most exactly  alike;  but,  oh,  how  different  the  expression 
—how  different  the  coloring! 

All  the  members  of  the  choir  were  on  the  qui  vive  to 
know  who  the  young  man  was.  Some  there  were  in  the 
choir  who  did  know,  and  it  was  soon  whispered  about 
that  he  was  only  a  young  fisherman  whom  old  Nathaniel 
Kester  had  take,n  under  his  wing  as  a  sort  of  protege; 


14:6  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

really,  a  fisherman  was  of  very  little  account,  and  he 
was  entirely  out  of  place  in  this  aristocratic  choir,  which 
was  made  up  from  some  of  the  very  best  young  people  of 
Redondo;  so  many  noses  were  elevated  in  the  air,  and 
many  a  contemptuous  and  supercilious  glance  was  cast 
in  his  direction. 

Mark  was  not  unaware  of  this,  but  his  heart  was  in- 
nocent, good,  brave  and  true,  and  he  must  meet  the 
world  and  conquer  it;  which  he  firmly  intended  to  do. 
He  had  received  a  very  good  musical  education  in  Lon- 
don, previous  to  his  mother's  departure  for  the  unseen 
world,  and  this  fact  the  ladies  of  the  choir  were  not  long 
in  discovering,  and  as  it  was  hard  to  get  good  bass 
singers,  especially  those  who  knew  how  to  sing,  the  choir 
leader  was  only  too  glad  to  keep  Mark  in  the  place  he 
had  assigned  him. 

The  young  man's  eyes  would  stray  to  Isabel  Morton's 
face  in  spite  of  himself;  and  whenever  their  eyes  met,  as 
they  often  did,  her  face  would  flush  the  color  of  the  rose 
and  her  sweet  eyes  would  droop  beneath  his  glance  like 
modest  violets.  A  subtle,  unseen  power  drew  these 
young  souls  together— a  power  which  they  did  not  com- 
prehend— at  least,  not  at  that  time. 

This  was  Mark's  first  Sunday,  and  after  the  evening 
services  were  over,  and  he  found  himself  alone  in  his 
own  room,  he  said: 

"I  have  seen  the  heroine  of  my  novel.  I  have  found 
my  soul's  ideal,  and  already  know  who  she  is.  She  is 
Isabel  Morton,  the  betrothed  of  another,  and  that  other, 
one  not  worthy  to  touch  her  hand.  She  is  the  sweetest 
and  most  beautiful  girl  I  ever  saw.  Can  it  be  possible 
that  she  loves  Marcus  Chesterfield,  or  do  his  millions 
bear  a  charm  for  her?" 

As  he  asked  himself  this  question,  the  despairing  atti- 
tude of  the  young  girl,  as  she  sat  by  her  window  on  that 
night  when  he  passed  the  Morton  House  for  the  first 
time,  rose  up  before  him. 

"No,  I  am  convinced  that  she  does  not  love  him..  Her 
pure,  sweet  nature  could  not  find  its  mate  in  Marcus 
Chesterfield." 

One  evening  in  the  week  the  choir  would  meet  for  a 
rehearsal.  It  usually  met  at  the  Morton  House,  that 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  147 

being  the  best  and  most  convenient  place;  and  now  Mark 
was  to  enter  the  home  of  the  woman  he  already  loved. 
This  fact  alone  was  a  joy  to  him,  and  he  was  impatient 
for  the  time  to  arrive. 

At  last  the  much  wished  for  evening  came  round,  and 
he  found  himself  in  the  beautiful  home  of  his  beloved. 

Mark  was  really  very  proficient  in  music,  and  played 
the  organ  and  piano  better  than  most  young  men  of  his 
age.  He  had  at  one  time  thought  of  becoming  a  music 
teacher,  but  concluded  that  he  would  prefer  to  be  free 
from  the  cares  of  teaching;  moreover,  most  of  the  music 
teachers  whom  he  had  met  were  in  poverty.  He  felt 
that  he  wanted  more  room,  a  larger  scope  in  life,  and  he 
did  not  think  that  his  talent  justified  him  in  giving  up 
his  life  to  the  profession  of  music.  He  did  not  believe 
that  he  would  ever  become  very  great  as  a  player,  and 
if  he  could  not  be  great,  he  would  leave  it  to  others  who 
could;  and  therein  we  think  he  showed  good  judgment; 
but  he  was  more  gifted  than  the  ordinary  choir  singer, 
and  his  playing,  if  not  that  of  a  master,  was  far  above 
that  of  the  average  village  performer. 

He  was  now  introduced  to  Mrs.  Morton  and  her  daugh- 
ter Isabel.  How  his  heart  thrilled  when  he  took  the 
young  girl's  hand  in  his  after  the  rehearsal  was  over. 

The  young  people  remained  to  engage  in  an  amateur 
musicale.  They  sang  glees  and  madrigals  and  many 
beautiful  songs;  very  few  of  the  singers,  however,  were 
masters  of  the  piano  keyboard,  Isabel  being  the  best 
player  among  them.  One  or  two  others  could  play  a 
little. 

When  it  was  known  that  the  young  fisherman  could 
play,  he  was  asked  to  favor  them.  Mark  perceived  a 
slight  sneer  on  one  or  two  faces  present,  but,  nothing 
daunted,  he  seated  himself  at  the  instrument,  determined 
to  do  his  best — and  his  best  proved  to  be  very  good  in- 
deed—so good  that  all  applauded,  even  those  who  had 
sneered  before.  He  was  really  the  very  best  player 
among  them,  for  Isabel  lacked  his  firm,  manly  strength 
and  power,  consequently  her  technique  was  not  as  good, 
her  playing  not  as  brilliant.  To  be  sure  her  touch  was 
soft  and  sympathetic,  but  Mark  rose  a  little  above 


148  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

mediocrity;  and,  after  hearing  him  sing  and  play,  the 
young  people  forgot  he  was  only  a  fisherman. 

Mark  returned  to  his  room  that  night  happier  than  he 
had  been  before  since  being  left  alone  in  London  by  the 
death  of  his  mother,  whom  he  had  so  dearly  loved. 

And  how  was  it  with  Isabel? 

Mark  was  the  fulfilment  of  her  dreams— her  day 
dreams.  She  had  dreamed  of  just  such  a  noble,  frank 
countenance;  of  just  such  a  strong,  supple,  manly  figure; 
of  just  such  clear,  open  eyes  that  seemed  to  look  the 
world  square  in  the  face — eyes  that  denoted  courage  and 
yet  were  pitiful  and  soft  at  the  mention,  or  sight  of  suf- 
fering; and  when  he  sat  at  the  piano  so  erect,  with  such 
a  grand  and  noble  air,  as  though  he  were,  the  master  of 
whatever  he  might  take  in  hand,  her  heart  went  out 
toward  him  as  it  never  had  to  any  other. 

The  meeting  of  Mark  Chester  and  Isabel  was  but  the 
commencement  of  the  end. 

Mrs.  Morton  had  received,  perhaps,  a  half  dozen  letters 
from  Marcus  Chesterfield,  always  directed  to  herself, 
with  another  inclosed  for  Isabel;  but  his  epistles  were  ex- 
tremely cold  and  commonplace.  To  be  sure,  there  was 
some  love-making  in  those  for  Isabel,  but  it  was  of  a 
perfunctory  kind  and  fell  flat,  without  stirring  a  ripple 
in  the  heart  of  the  girl;  but  Mrs.  Morton  was  perfectly 
satisfied  with  those  which  were  meant  for  her,  for  in 
them  he  spoke  of  very  little  except  business.  He  greatly 
feared  he  might  not  be  able  to  return  to  Redondo  for  six 
months,  at  least.  The  syndicate  would  not  buy  his 
mines  at  five  millions  until  there  had  been  much  more 
extensive  tunneling  than  there  had  been  so  far.  The 
representative  of  the  syndicate  intended  to  remain  at  the 
hotel,  at  the  mining  camp,  and  he  thought  it  best  to  re- 
main there  also,  as  he  greatly  desired  to  watch  the  pro- 
ceedings from  day  to  day.  The  mines,  thus  far,  were 
turning  out  excellently,  and  he  felt  sure  that  he  should 
yet  get  his  price  for  them;  so  Mrs.  Morton  continued  to 
build  air  castles  for  herself  and  Isabel,  but  Isabel's 
castles  were  not  at  all  like  her  mother's. 


A    MILL    AND   A    MILLION.  149 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

THE   EAGLET    HAS   FLOWN   ITS    NEST. 

Summer  came  on  apace.  The  Morton  House  was  filled 
to  overflowing  with  travelers,  tourists,  and  others  who 
desired  to  spend  the  summer  at  this  fine  beach.  Every 
day,  when  the  Santa  Rosa  steamed  up  to  the  wharf, 
she  disgorged  a  long  procession  of  travelers  and  sight 
seers;  and  many  would  remain  for  good,  for  nothing 
could  be  more  attractive  than  southern  California  at  this 
time  of  year. 

Mr.  Kester's  fishes  were  in  great  demand  at  the  hotels, 
and  prices  were  raised  until  Mark  and  the  old  fisher- 
man received  nearly  double  the  former  price  of  the  fish. 
The  reapers  and  binding  machines  were  now  hard  at 
work  in  Mark's  field,  and  when  the  hay  was  all  piled 
in  bales,  they  found  the  field  had  yielded  an  unusual 
amount,  for  the  season  had  been  excellent  and  the  rain 
copious. 

Mark  received  three  thousand  dollars  in  cash  for  his 
hay,  and  the  bales  were  soon  removed  to  the  storing- 
sheds  of  those  who  had  purchased  them.  The  men  were 
again  set  to  work  ploughing  the  field,  and  it  was  soon 
planted  with  a  small,  thrifty,  bush-bean;  the  beans 
would  be  ready  to  harvest  before  August.  Mark  had 
paid  out  about  one  thousand  dollars  for  labor — for  he 
paid  his  workmen  more  than  they  could  obtain  anywhere 
else — and  he  found  the  field  had  already  cleared  him 
two  thousand  dollars,  while  he  had  not  earned  less  than 
two  hundred  a  month  at  fishing. 

When  the  first  of  July  came  he  had  received  twelve 
hundred  dollars  for  fish,  and  his  living  expenses  had  been 
about  two  hundred  dollars.  He  now  found  himself  pos- 
sessed of  three  thousand  dollars  clear  cash.  This  he 
placed  in  the  Redondo  savings  bank.  It  was  soon  noised 
about  that  young  Chester  had  a  bank  account  of  three 
thousand  dollars.  Men  began  to  take  off  their  hats  to 
him.  Ladies  smiled  upon  him.  Mothers,  with  marriage- 
able daughters,  were  exceedingly  polite  to  him.  Beggars 


150  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

began  to  beset  him.  Swindlers  made  efforts  to  entrap 
him.  Everybody  had  something  or  other  they  uosire-i 
to  sell  to  him.  The  hotel  proprietor  and  the  clerl;  were 
very  pleasant  and  suave  to  him.  Scarcely  a  day  passed 
that  he  did  not  receive  an  invitation  to  some  social  gath- 
ering, musicale,  or  dancing  party.  Almost  everyone 
seemed  to  forget  that  he  was  "only  a  nasty  fisherman" 
— that  is  to  say,  they  had  thus  called  him  before  he  had 
a  bank  account  of  three  thousand  dollars.  To  be  sure 
three  thousand  dollars  was  no  very  great  amount. 
There  were  hundreds  in  Redondo  who  were  possessed  of 
very  many  thousands  of  dollars;  but  the  people  now 
began  to  see  that  he  was  no  ordinary  young  man;  more- 
over, he  had  finished  his  novel  or  story,  and  the  open- 
ing chapters  had  already  appeared  in  a  Chicago  paper — 
a  weekly  paper  devoted  to  free  thought  and  the  great 
truths  embodied  in  the  new,  or,  rather,  old  religion, 
called  Spiritualism.  This  grand  weekly  paper  was  called 
"The  Progressive  Thinker"  and  it  was  rightly  named, 
for  more  progressive  ideas  were  never  before  printed  ia 
any  one  paper. 

Mark  had  subscribed  for  this  paper  shortly  after  he 
had  become  established  at  Redondo;  and  many  happy 
hours  he  had  spent  in  the  perusal  of  it.  He  loved  truth 
for  truth's  sake.  He  did  not  care  to  become  popular  at 
the  expense  of  that  which  he  conceived  to  be  true,  and 
he  knew  that  his  OAvn  dear  mother  was  not  dead;  he 
knew  that  she  still  loved  him;  was  with  him  much  of  the 
time,  and  guarded  and  guided  him;  knowing  this,  he 
could  not  have  committed  a  wrong  act,  even  if  he  had 
been  disoosed  to. 

Men  of  letters  began  to  notice  him,  and  the  noble  and 
learned  editor  of  the  Progressive  Thinker  wrote  him 
kind  and  friendly  letters,  speaking  well  of  his  story — 
and  Uncle  Kester  was  as  happy  as  man  could  well  be. 

"I  knowed  ther  boy  wus  all  right,"  he  often  said  to 
his  "purty  dove,"  "es  soon  es  I  clapped  my  two  eyes  on 
him.  Human  natur  can't  deceive  old  Kister  much:  he's 
lived  tew  long  in  this  ere  tarnel  world.  Thet  boy — thet 
thar  pardner  o'  mine — '11  make  his  mark  in  the  world, 
sure's  yer  live,  Miss  Kister!  I  wish  our  Jane  tuck  a 
fancy  ter  him  instid  o'  thet  tother  feller,  thet  thar  mil- 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  151 

lioner.  Wouldn't  it  be  mighty  curous  tho',  ef  Mark  shud 
become  a  millioner  tew?  Don't  believe  it  wud  make  a 
bit  o  'difference  with  him  tho'.  He'd  jest  es  lief  go  out 
a  catchin'  yaller-tails  es  ef  he  hadn't  a  cent, — but,  marm, 
whar  is  thet  gal?  I  haint  a  seed  hur  sence  mornin'." 

"I  really  do  not  know,"  replied  Mrs.  Kester.  "She 
went  out  quite  early  this  morning,  and  has  not  yet  re- 
turned." 

"An'  thet  thar  millioner  hes  ben  a  writin'  tew  hur  a 
good  deal  of  late,  hes  n't  he  tho'?" 

"Yes;  she  has  received  a  great  many  letters,  and  there 
is  no  one  else  who  would  be  likely  to  write  to  her." 

"Wall,  marm,  perhaps  it'll  all  turn  out  right  arter  all, 
fur  Mark  hes  ben  a  walkin'  with  Isabel  Morton  on  this 
ere  beach  fur  a  good  many  Sundays  long  back,  jest  afore 
ther  time  fur  evenin'  meetin',  an'  I  kin  tell  yer,  marm, 
thet  thet  thar  young  feller  thinks  a  tarnel  sight  o'  thet 
gal." 

Evening  came,  but  Jane  Erie  did  not  make  her  ap- 
pearance. Ten  o'clock,  still  Jane  was  absent. 

"Where  can  she  be?;'  asked  Mrs.  Kester,  pale  with 
alarm.  "If  Marcus  Chesterfield  were  here,  I  might  think 
she  was  walking  on  the  beach  with  him.  She  has  never 
walked  on  the  beach  with  any  other  young  man,  to  my 
knowledge.  Some  accident  may  have  befallen  her,  Na- 
thaniel," and  the  mother's  eyes  were  raised,  entreatingly, 
to  those  of  her  husband. 

The  old  fisherman  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips,  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  it  against  the  jamb  of  the  fireplace, 
thrust  the  stem  of  the  pipe  into  its  accustomed  place, 
which  was  a  narrow  strap  of  leather  tacked  up  against 
the  wall  at  the  spot  most  convenient  for  his  hand  to 
reach,  rose  slowly  from  his  chair — he  was  beginning  to 
get  a  little  stiff  in  his  kn-ees— then,  without  uttering  a 
syllable,  he  went  toward  the  kitchen,  took  down  his  hat 
and  coat,  and  with  a  very  grave  face,  got  himself  into 
them. 

His  wife  watched  him  with  anxious  eyes. 

"Are  you  going  to  look  for  her,  Nathaniel?"  she  asked. 

"Yes.  dearie;  an'  don't  yer  fret  while  I  am  gone.  I 
shell  find  her  ef  she  is  in  this  ere  little  town.  Don't  yer 
be  afeard  thet  I  shell  not." 


152  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

Mrs.  Kester  arose  and  went  toward  him. 

"Hark!  How  the  wind  is  howling!"  she  said.  "Surely, 
Jane  would  not  stay  on  the  beach  in  such  a  gale  as  this." 

"Don't  yer  be  afeared,  turkle-dove."  And  taking  his 
wife  in  his  arms  he  kissed  her  as  tenderly  as  a  mother 
kisses  her  first  born. 

"Perhaps,  now,  she's  at  ther  hotel,  an'  hes  ben  de- 
tained thar  by  sum  o'  them  wimen  folks.  I  shell  find, 
an'  bring  her  back  with  me,  dearie;  never  fear." 

He  opened  the  door.  A  heavy  gust  of  wind  extin- 
guished the  lamp  and  flared  the  fire  in  the  grate,  wildly. 

"Yer  hed  best  go  ter  bed,  an'  rest;  I  shell  cum  back 
presently,  an'  our  darter  '11  be  with  me,  never  fear."  He 
closed  the  door  and  started  forth  into  the  wild,  dark 
night,  in  search  of  the  wild,  dark  bird,  that  had  flown  its 
nest. 

Up  and  down  the  beach,  hither  and  thither  he  went, 
his  head  thrust  forward,  intently  listening  for  some  foot- 
step, and  peering  into  the  thick  darkness  with  half 
closed  eyes.  As  he  passed  Molly,  that  loomed  up  like  a 
huge  black  shadow,  he  saw  by  the  dying  embers  that 
Mark  had  already  gone  to  the  hotel;  still,  he  went  down 
to  tho  boat,  walked  around  it  with  searching  eyes;  but 
no  human  form  was  visible,  no  sound  could  he  hear  but 
the  rushing  wind  and  the  roaring  sea — for  the  waves 
were  now  dashing  high  and  furiously  against  the  beach. 

"Molly,"  said  he  to  the  boat,  "can't  yer  speak  an'  tell 
me  whar  ter  find  thet  thar  gal  as  is  a  constant  wear  an' 
worry  ter  her  marm?  Yer  wunt  speak;  yer  es  silent  es 
ther  tomb!  Wall,  then,  I  must  leave  yer.  You  an'  them 
big  waves,  thet's  jest  a-reachin'  o'  yer  starn,  must  tussle 
it  out  together.  Yer  safe  enough,  I  reckon;  fur  Mark 
hes  dug  yer  ankor  knee  deep  inter  ther  sand.  Thet  boy 
never  forgits  ner  negleks  enythin',  an'  ther  last  spark  o' 
fire  hes  gone  out,  a'ready.  Wall;  good  bye,  ole  gal,  till 
mornin'.  Now,  whar  shell  I  go  ter  look  fur  thet  thar 
crazy  gal?  I'll  go  ter  ther  hotel  fust,  I  gess,  an'  see  ef 
she's  thar;  an'  in  case  I  don't  find  her,  I'll  jest  ax  Mark 
ter  go  with  me  in  sarch  o'  her."  Saying  which,  he 
turned  his  steps  in  the  direction  of  the  hotel. 

But  Jane  had  not  been  seen  at  the  hotel.  The  old 
fisherman  then  ascended  to  Mark's  room  and  knocked. 


A    MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  153 

The  young  man  opened  the  door,  but  looked  a  little  sur- 
prised on  seeing  who  was  there. 

"Oh!  is  it  you,  Uncle  Kester?  Come  in,  and  take  a 
seat  here  by  the  grate.  This  heavy  wind  makes  the  air 
chilly." 

The  old  man  stepped  inside  the  door,  but  did  not  sit 
down. 

"What  is  the  matter,  uncle?"  asked  Mark.  "You  look 
solemn  and  troubled.  No  one  sick  down  there  at  the 
cottage,  is  there,  dear  old  dad?" 

"Ef  yer  mean  ter  ask  ef  thet  thar  sweet  turkle-dove 
is  sick,  then  I  shud  say  she  war  otherwise — I  shud  say 
she  ware  ill  at  ease  in  her  mind." 

Mark  looked  at  the  old  man,  inquiringly. 

"I  suppose  yer  haint  seen  thet  thar  gal  round  about, 
enywhar,  hes  yer?" 

"What  girl  do  you  mean,  uncle?  Certainly  no  girl, 
except  the  chamber  maid,  ever  comes  to  this  room,  and 
she  never  comes  when  I  am  here,"  and  the  young  man 
smiled  good  humoredly. 

"Wall,  in  course  I  didn't  mean  fur  ter  ax  yer  ef  Jane 
hed  ben  in  this  ere  room;  but  ef  yer  hed  obsarved  her  a 
watin'  enywhar  round  on  this  beach?" 

"No,  uncle;  I  have  not  seen  a  lady,  child,  or  young 
girl  on  the  beach  today.  The  wind  is  altogether  too  furi- 
ous for  ladies  or  children  to  be  out." 

The  old  man  sighed  heavily. 

"Mark,"  he  asked,  "what  do  yer  suppose  hes  become 
o'  thet  thar  gal,  es  hes  hed  hur  own  way  mor'n  she 
oughtern  tew?" 

"Do  you  mean  Miss  Erie?"  asked  Mark. 

"Wall,  yis.    I  mean  Jane  Erie,  in  course." 

"Is  she  not  at  home?" 

"She's  not  thar,  pardner,  thet's  sartin;  an',  what's 
more,  she  hes  not  ben  thar  sence  mornin'." 

Mark  looked  thoughtful. 

"I  shell  jest  hev  ter  sarch  this  ere  town  thru,  afore  I 
go  back  ter  hur  marm — thet  poor  dove,  thet  is  a  mournin' 
fur  hur  one  nestlin'.  'Pears  like  tho'  es  ef  thet  nestlin' 
must  a  ben  hatched  outen  a  strang'  brood,  fur  she's  more 
like  a  eaglet  then  a  dove." 

"Your  right,  dad;  and  I  think  the  eaglet  has  flowa  to; 


154  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

parts  unknown;  or,  perhaps,  to  yonder  mountains. 
However,  I  will  go  with  you  and  we  will  make  a  thor- 
ough search  of  the  town  and  beach,  together  with  the 
little  settlement,  yonder." 

They  sallied  forth  into  the  wind  and  darkness,  and  it 
was  past  midnight  before  they  gave  up  the  search. 

All  was  in  vain,  however.  Jane  Erie  had  disappeared 
as  though  the  earth  had  swallowed  her  up  or  the  rest- 
less waves  of  the  Pacific  had  engulfed  her. 

While  her  husband  was  absent,  looking  for  the  missing 
girl,  Mrs.  Kester  searched  her  daughter's  room.  She 
found  that  Jane's  best  clothes  had  also  disappeared, 
and,  discovering  this,  she  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
her  child  had  left  her  home  of  her  own  accord,  and  to 
search  for  her  in  the  town  was  useless;  so  when  the  old 
fisherman  returned  from  his  wanderings  about  the  town, 
she  told  him  of  her  discovery.  He  looked  downcast  and 
gloomy,  while  the  mother  sighed  and  shed  tears  of  grief 
and  disappointed  hopes,  for  she  had  hoped,  as  all  other 
mothers  do,  that  her  daughter  would  have  been  a  staff 
and  comfort  to  her  declining  years;  she  had  hoped  that 
her  daughter  would  have  married  some  honest  young 
man,  here  in  Redondo,  and  that  they  would  have  made 
their  home  here,  near  her  own,  and  that  lovely  little 
children  would  have  called  her  grandma.  But  her  nest- 
ling had  flown— mo  one  at  present  could  tell  where. 


A   MILL  AND  A   MILLION.  155 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

A   BRIDE. 

We,  also,  are  interested  in  this  young  lady's  career, 
and  as  we  are  more  fortunate  than  Mrs.  Kester  was— 
by  being  able  to  follow,  simply  because  we  are  invisible 
—we  will  take  that  liberty. 

Jane  did  not  take  the  train  that  morning,  knowing  full 
well  that  if  she  were  to  do  so,  her  presence  at  the  small 
station  would  be  known;  for  all  connected  with  that 
depot  were  well  acquainted  with  her.  She  stole,  unob- 
served, out  upon  the  wharf,  just  before  the  morning 
boat,  the  Corona,  started  for  San  Francisco. 

Marcus  Chesterfield  had  begged  of  her,  a  number  of 
times,  in  his  letters,  to  meet  him  at  San  Francisco;  and 
she  had  replied  that  she  would  do  so  when  he  was  ready 
to  lead  her  to  the  altar.  In  the  next  letter  which  she 
had  received,  by  return  of  mail,  he  pleaded  his  previous 
engagement.  She  replied,  that  his  later  engagement  was 
the  more  binding  of  the  two — that  she  would  come, 
directly  he  promised  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  she  ar- 
rived. But  he  demurred  for  a  considerable  length  of 
time.  At  last  he  wrote,  that  it  was  so  stupidly  dull  at 
the  camp  he  could  endure  it  no  longer.  He  should  start 
for  San  Francisco  the  next  day,  and  that  if  she  would 
take  the  next  boat  from  Redondo  for  San  Francisco,  he 
would  meet  her  at  the  wharf.  He  also  enclosed  a  five 
hundred  dollar  note,  that  she  might  not  lack  for  funds. 
He  was  an  entire  stranger  in  San  Francisco,  and  no  one 
there  need  to  know  but  that  she  was  a  wealthy  woman, 
equal  in  all  respects  to  himself. 

Jane  was  delighted.  This  was  precisely  what  she  de- 
sired and  what  she  had  anticipated;  so  just  before  the 
boat  was  ready  to  start,  she  made  her  way  to  it.  She 
was  heavily  veiled,  and  in  the  confusion  no  one  recog- 
nized her,  and  soon  she  was  many  miles  away  from  her 
home.  She  would  arrive  in  San  Francisco  somewhere 
about  five  o'clock  on  the  secoad  day,  sleeping  one  night 
on  the  boat. 


156  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

She  had  never  before  been    parted   from  her   mothe. 
and  for  the  first  time  found  herself  entirely  alone  in  the 
great  world.     There  was  not  a   soul  on   the   boat  whom 
she  had  ever  seen  before;  she  sat  gazing  toward  the  fast 
receding  shore;   a  sense  of  desolation  crept  over  her. 

Suppose  Marcus  Chesterfield  should  fail  to  keep  his 
appointment?  She  placed  very  little  confidence  in  his 
promises,  realizing  his  perfidy  toward  Isabel  Morton, 
and  although  she  herself  had  instigated  it,  still  she  knew 
that  he  was  by  nature  inconstant,  and,  consequently,  not 
to  be  trusted. 

Jane  Erie  did  not  love  Marcus  Chesterfield  in  the 
least.  She  was  one  of  those  women  who  by  nature  love 
little — one  of  those  to  whom  extreme  wealth  and  honors 
constituted  all  there  is  in  life  worth  the  living.  To  give 
herself  to  any  man,  no  matter  how  wealthy  he  might  be, 
without  the  marriage  ceremony,  would  have  been  to  her, 
also,  impossible.  She  did  not  wish  merely  to  accept 
gifts  and  favors.  She  desired  to  be  the  mistress— with- 
out cavil  or  doubt— of  his  millions.  This  she  would  be 
or  nothing.  But,  of  course,  Marcus  Chesterfield  could 
not  know  all  this,  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
if  he  must  marry  Jane,  it  really  made  little  difference  to 
him  after  all. 

He  had  admired  Isabel's  beauty  and  sweetness,  but 
his  vanity  was  hurt  at  her  coldness  and  reluctance  to 
become  his  wife  at  once.  He  was  one  of  those  who  are 
indignant  if  a  woman  is  not  ready  to  fall  at  their  feet 
and  adore  them.  Jane  Erie  could  pretend  to  all  this 
and  yet  remain  cold  and  indifferent  at  heart.  Marcus 
was  perfectly  willing  to  desert  Isabel  Morton,  but  he 
feared  her  mother.  If  he  married  Jane,  would  Mrs. 
Mortoa  induce  Isabel  to  sue  for  breach  of  promise  of 
marriage?  He  could  not  tell.  He  greatly  feared  any- 
thing of  this  nature,  for  he  well  knew  that  if  she  were 
to  do  so,  the  courts  and  the  lawyers  would  run  away 
with  a  vast  amount  of  his  wealth;  it  might  possibly  ruin 
him  entirely;  however,  he  would  meet  Jane  and  listen 
to  whatever  advice  she  might  be  able  to  give  him. 

The  following  day,  after  Jane  had  left  Redondo,  the 
Corona  arrived  at  San  Francisco.  It  was  about  half 
past  five  o'clock.  The  sun  had  already  disappeared  be- 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  157 

hind  the  hills,  but  the  air  was  soft  and  balmy  and  the 
sky  without  a  cloud.  When  the  passengers  began  to 
land,  Jane  looked  about,  eagerly,  for  her  lover— and, 
truth  to  tell,  he  was  not  long  in  discovering  her. 

His  elegant  carriage  was  waiting  near  by.  His  greet- 
ing was  not  very  effusive,  still,  he  shook  her  hand 
warmly, — while  her  eyes  glowed  with  the  smouldering 
fires  of  ambition. 

Ah!  could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  so  soon  to  be 
the  mistress  of  vast  wealth?  She,  Jane  Erie,  not  much 
more  than  a  beggar,  who  had  never  known  anything  but 
privation  and  poverty  all  her  life?  She,  Jane  Erie, 
whom  the  ladies  at  the  hotel,  in  Redondo,  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  snubbing  with  supercilious  mien  on  all  occa- 
sions? It  would  very  soon  be  her  turn  now,  she  thought. 

Marcus  handed  her  into  the  carriage,  the  driver 
whipped  up  his  horses,  and  presently  the  carriage 
stopped  before  the  Palace  Hotel. 

Marcus  had  made  very  few  remarks  on  the  way,  and 
Jane  had  scarcely  lifted  her  head,  but  the  young  man 
had  stolen  his  arm  about  her  waist,  and  imprinted  one 
or  two  passionate  kisses  on  her  lips. 

Marcus  had  already  engaged  a  suite  of  elegant  apart- 
ments at  the  hotel,  and  into  them  he  conducted  the  girl 
who  soon  meant  to  be  his  bride.  This  suite  of  rooms 
consisted  of  parlor,  bedroom  and  bathroom. 

Jane  took  off  her  wraps  and  looked  about  her.  She 
had  never  seen  anything  half  so  elegant  in  all  her  life. 

Marcus  ordered  a  sumptuous  repast,  and  when  they 
were  left  to  themselves,  Jane  said: 

"Dear  Marcus,  have  you  decided  where  we  are  to  be 
married?" 

"No.  not  yet,"  he  replied.  "Really,  there  is  no  hurry, 
Jane.  A  week  or  two  hence  will  do,  will  it  not?" 

"No!"  she  answered,  decisively.  "Unless  we  are  mar- 
ried, this  very  evening,  I  shall  leave  this  hotel  and  go  to 
another;  or,  I  may  take  the  midnight  train  for  Los 
Angeles." 

"Jane,  you  can  never  be  guilty  of  doing  anything  so 
foolish!" 

"Indeed,    I   can,"    she    replied.     "I   not   only   can,    but 


158  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

will.  You  wrote  me  that  you  had  already  procured  a 
license,  or  I  should  not  be  here.  Now,  let  me  see  it." 

Marcus  took  the  document  from  his  pocket  and  handed 
it  to  her.  She  opened  it  with  great  deliberation  and  read 
it  aloud,  slowly,  and  distinctly. 

"This  is  all  right,"  she  said  in  a  pleased  tone.  "It 
only  remains,  now,  for  the  marriage  ceremony  to  be  per- 
formed. Shall  we  drive  to  the  house  of  some  divine,  or 
will  you  send  for  one  to  come  here?" 

"But,  Jane,"  he  remonstrated,  "I  had  hoped,  when  we 
married,  to  make  some  display— and,  really,  your  travel- 
ing dress  is  not  suitable  for  the  bride  of  a  millionaire." 

"I  caro  little  whether  it  be  suitable  or  not,"  she  re- 
plied; "still,  if  you  will  go  out  and  engage  rooms  for  me, 
at  some  other  hotel,  I  am  willing  to  wait  until  tomorrow, 
when  I  will  provide  myself  with  suitable  wedding  ap- 
parel— and  you  can  engage  the  minister  for  tomorrow 
evening." 

Marcus  hesitated. 

"After  all,  Jane,"  he  said,  "it  really  makes  but  little 
difference.  Your  dress  is  quite  neat;  I  will  do  as  you 
say.  But,  there  is  a  minister  here  at  the  hotel.  I  will 
speak  to  him.  If  I  ask  him  to  come  to  us  at  ten  o'clock, 
it  will  do,  will  it  not?" 

"I  think  it  will,"  answered  Jane;  "in  the  meanwhile, 
Marcus,  we  will  go  out.  I  wish  to  make  one  or  two 
purchases." 

Marcus  spoke  to  the  minister  and  then  he  and  Jane 
went  out.  The  stores  were  not  all  closed.  Jane  pur- 
chased an  elegant  point  lace  collar,  and  a  pair  of  white 
kid  gloves;  then  they  returned  to  the  hotel. 

The  young  lady's  traveling  dress  was  a  steel-gray 
alpaca,  very  pretty  and  becoming.  She  pinned  the  col- 
lar about  her  neck,  drew  on  her  white  kid  gloves,  and, 
really,  looked  a  very  beautiful  bride  indeed.  The  cleri- 
cal gentleman  soon  after  knocked  at  the  door;  and,  in 
less  than  half  an  hour,  Marcus  Chesterfield  and  Jane 
Erie  were  man  and  wife. 

Jane  could  no  longer  conceal  her  joy  and  gratification. 
Now,  her  real  life  would  commence  in  earnest.  She 
questioned  Marcus  about  the  mines. 

"They  turned  out  all  right,"  said  he.     "They  gave  me 


A    MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  159 

my  price,  and  we  need  never  return  to  the  mining  camp, 
or  Redondo,  for  that  matter.  The  syndicate  really  ex- 
ists in  London,  England.  My  dealings  have  been  with 
its  representative.  I  am  at  this  present  moment,  my 
dear  Jane,  worth  six  millions." 

Jane  clasped  her  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy. 

"Marcus,"  said  she,  "shall  I  write  to  my  mother?") 

"I  think  not,  just  at  present.  I  want  to  get  clear  of 
this  cursed  country,  first;  for  Mrs.  Morton  may  take  it 
into  her  head  to  sue  me  for  breach  of  promise  of  mar- 
riage to  her  daughter,  or  instigate  Isabel  to  do  so.  We 
will  start  for  New  York  tomorrow,  and  from  there  set 
sail  for  Europe.  I  do  not  mean  to  return  to  America  for 
ten  years  at  least.  Of  course  you  will  like  this,  Jane?" 

"Well,  perhaps  as  well  as  any  other.  I  desire  to  see 
the  world  and  also  to  take  my  rightful  place  in  it." 

In  a  week  from  that » time,  Marcus  and  Mrs.  Chester- 
field were  on  their  way  to  Europe. 


160  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

JANE   IS    FORGIVEN. 

Time  went  on,  as  time  is  in  the  habit  of  doing,  bring- 
ing and  depositing  as  it  flies,  incidents  without  number. 

Mrs.  Kester  had  received  a  letter,  dated  from  New 
York.  Jane  had  mailed  the  epistle  just  before  going  on 
board  the  steamer  which  was  to  sail  at  ten  o'clock.  She 
informed  her  mother  that  she  was  married  to  Marcus 
Chesterfield,  and  would  be  far  on  her  way  toward 
another  land  by  the  time  this  reached  her  mother's  hand. 

The  undutiful  daughter  sent  her  mother  a  check  for 
five  thousand  dollars. 

"Mother,"  she  went  on  to  say,  "I  am  now  the  wife  of 
a  multi-millionaire,  and  have  succeeded  in  becoming  rich 
through  sheer  force  of  will!  Mother,  I  am  ready  to  fall 
down  and  worship  that  which  is  called  'Will  Power  or 
Force.'  This  is  a  spiritual  gift,  my  mother,  and  if  exer- 
cised to  its  fullest  extent,  can,  in  the,  words  of  the 
Bible,  remove  mountains.  I  do  not  think  that  mountains 
are  removed  by  prayer  and  faith  alone,  but  by  the 
powerful  exercise  of  the  will,  together  with  correspond- 
ing actions.  I  might  have  spent  my  whole  life  OH  my 
knees,  praying  for  good  fortune,  and  it  never  would 
have  come  to  me,  I  am  sure.  I  might  have  sat  in  that 
little  poverty-stricken  room,  at  home,  stitching  my  life 
away  until  the  crack  of  doom,  and  nothing  would  ever 
have  come  of  it  but  sickness,  ruin  and  decay.  Mother,  I 
took  my  life  into  my  own  hands  and  have  raised  myself 
from  the  depths  of  poverty  to  the  heights  of  extreme 
wealth  and  grandeur— but  I  hear  you  say,— 

"  'So  you  have,  my  child;  but  through  most  discredit- 
able and  dishonorable  means.' 

"I  know  you  and  the  old  fisherman  think  this  of  me. 
I  could,  no  doubt,  have  remained  with  you,  and,  in  time, 
married  an  old — or  perhaps,  even — a  young  fisherman.  I 
might,  possibly,  have  married  one  of  those  vagabonds  in 
Shantiville — as  I  always  called  that  little  settlement  of 
huts  and  tents— and  then  have  led  him  a  life  not  at  all 


A  MILL  AND   A   MILLION.  1S1 

to  be  desired — in  fact,  mother,  I  should  have  mado  his 
life  a  perfect  hell,  and  he  would  have  looked  upon  me  as 
a  demon  in  human  form;  for  my  natural  bent  is  not  that 
of  a  self-sacrificing,  loving  woman.  You  are  that,  and 
may  continue  to  be  that,  but  I  am  on  a  different  plane: 
I  must  either  fly  or  die. 

"Now  I  hear  you  say:  'But,  Jane;  how  very  dishonor- 
able to  inveigle  into  your  net  the  promised  husband  of 
another.' 

"Mother,  there  are  two  ways  of  looking  at  this.  I  am 
well  aware  that  Marcus  and  Isabel  were  promised  to 
each  other;  but  a  bad  promise  is  better  broken  than  kept. 
I  do  not  know  whether  I  could  have  been  wicked  enough 
to  have  broken  Isabel  Morton's  heart  or  not;  but  I  well 
knew  that  I  should  not.  She  did  not  love  Marcus.  No, 
not  even  as  well  as  I  do.  I  really  think,  mania,  that  I 
love  him  better  than  any  other  woman  who  lives;  how- 
ever, that  is  not  saying  much;  but  I  really  love  him  a 
thousand  times  better  than  Isabel  ever  did  or  ever  could; 
consequently,  I  do  not  think  that  I  have  been  as  dis- 
honorable as  you  think. 

"Now,  mother,  whom  have  I  really  wronged?  I  imag- 
ine I  hear  you  say, — 'Jane,  you  have  wronged  me — your 
mother.' 

"Have  I  really  wronged  you,  mama?  You  are  a  weak 
willed,  loving,  and  self-sacrificing  woman.  You  give 
yourself  to  a  poverty  stricken  old  fisherman,  partly  be- 
cause you  really  love  him,  and  partly  from  a  feeling  of 
gratitude  because  he  used  to  give  us  a  fish  or  so  wnen 
we  were  hungry;  but,  mother,  I  could  never  love  such  a 
man.  He  appears  to  me  an  ignorant  old  hulk,  as  low  in 
the  scale,  almost,  as  his  old  black  boat,  Molly. 

"Bye-the-way,  I  think  I  will  name  my  first  girl,  Molly. 
I  am  really  in  earnest,  mama,  then,  perhaps  Mr. 
Nathaniel  Kester  may  forgive  me,  in  part,  for  running 
away  and  marrying  the  man  I  wanted.  Now,  mother,  I 
send  you  five  thousand  dollars,  hoping  that  it  may,  in 
part,  heal  the  wounds  of  yourself  and  that  really  honest 
and  good  man,  your  husband.  I  intend  to  send  you  five 
thousand  more  as  soon  as  I  land  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water.  Ten  thousand  dollars,  together  with  the  little 
house  and  acre  of  land,  will  make  you  quite  comfortable, 


162  MARK   CHESTER:     OK 

and  that  dear  old  step-father  of  mine  won't  be  obliged  to 
go  out  fishing. 

"Mother,  whom  have  I  really  wronged?  No  one.  I 
say,  no  one,  and  stick  to  it.  You  may  say  I  have  caused 
a  scandal.  Well,  let  those  talk  scandal  who  like  it.  I 
am  sure  I  have  not  wronged  the  scandal  mongers  in  the 
least,  but  many  of  those  who  will  gossip  about  me  have 
wronged  me  most  bitterly.  Those  gossiping,  proud,  super- 
cilious dames  and  damsels  belonging  to  Redondo,  used  to 
grind  me  into  the  earth.  How  insulting  and  patronizing 
they  used  to  treat  me;  how  haughtily  they  looked  down 
on  me.  It  is  my  turn  now;  but,  as  wicked  as  you  think 
me,  I  am  better  than  the  most  of  them.  The  only  per 
son  in  the  world  whom  I  have  really  wounded  is  Mrs. 
Morton  herself. 

"Well,  mother,  it  stands  just  this  way.  Mrs.  Morton's 
soul  and  my  soul  stood  up  to  fight  a  duel.  We  fought 
and  I  have  conquered,  that  is  all.  One  or  the  other  must 
conquer.  I  am  less  guiltless  than  Mrs.  Morton.  She 
would  have  sold  her  daughter  into  bondage  simply  that 
she,  herself,  might  reap  the  benefit.  I  consider  that  her 
crime  would  have  been  far  more  heinous  than  the  baying 
and  selling  of  the  African  slave.  What  right  has  a 
mother  to  sell  her"  daughter  into  a  bondage  worse  than 
slavery  or  death? 

"Isabel  has  always  yielded  her  will  to  that  of  her 
mother's,  and  that  mother  would  have  sold  her  child  in 
consequence. 

"Isabel  has  been  a  more  dutiful  daughter  than  I  have, 
but  I  doubt  if  her  being  so  would  have  resulted  in  the 
happiness  of  herself  or  her  mother.  I  shall  be  better 
able  to  lead  Marcus  aright  than  Mrs.  Morton  could,  His 
faults  would  have  soon  brought  his  mother-in-law  down 
upon  him,  and  with  all  his  wealth,  Mrs.  Morton  and 
Isabel  would  have  been  very  unhappy. 

"Mother,  I  can  not  see  that  I  have  been  very  wicked. 
You  will  still  love  me.  The  gossips  of  Redondo  will  for- 
get to  scandalize  me  in  their  eagerness  to  talk  of  some 
one  else. 

"Isabel,  no  doubt,  already  thanks  me  in  her  heart,  but 
Mrs.  Morton  will  be  my  enemy  for  many  years  to  COIIK>. 


A    MILL    AND    A   MILLION.  163 

"Good  bye,  for  this  time,  mama,  dear.  You  shall  soon 
hear  from  me  again. 

"Your   daughter, 

Mrs.   Marcus   Chesterfield.'' 

Mrs.  Kester  kissed  the  letter  and  laid  it  away  in  a 
little  casket  containing  her  treasures,  and  then  drew  the 
five  thousand  dollars  from  the  Redondo  bank. 

The  old  fisherman  looked  at  the  money.  Tears  came  to 
his  eyes.  Then  he  whistled  softly.  Then  he  kissed  his 
wife  and  called  her  a  cooing  dove. 

"Wall,  thet  thar  eagle  hes  gone  an'  soared  away.  Yer 
can't  make  doves  outer  eagles— an'  yer  can't  make 
eagles  outer  doves.  Lions  ner  lams  wunt  lay  down  ter- 
gether,  no  how  yer  kin  fix  it,  unless  yer  put  the  lam'  in- 
side ther  lion — an'  ther  eagle  will  claw  ther  dove,  sure. 
Let  thet  thar  eagle  hev  hur  own  way.  She  is  a  right 
royal  eaglet,  she  is.  Calls  me  a  old  hulk,  do  she?  not 
much  better'n  Molly — an'  ole  ignerunt  fisherman!  Wall, 
jestice  is  jestice,  an'  thet  thar  gal  is  right.  I  am  a  ole 
ignerunt  hulk  es  sure  es  yer  live,  turkle  dove;  but,  fur 
all  o'  thet,  Molly,  she  loved  me — an'  you  love  me,  turkle- 
dove — an'  Mark  Chester  loves  me — an'  all  them  thar 
people  at  ther  settlemint,  loves  me — them  Shantyvillers, 
es  ther  eaglet  calls  um — an'  a  most  o'  ther  peoples  here 
in  Redondo,  calls  me  unkle — an*  I  gess  es  how  ther  most 
er  them  wuld  trust  ine  with  ther  wimen  an'  darters— an' 
may  be,  wud  like  ter  borrer  a  dollar  er  two  o'  me,  oc- 
casionally; so,  I  gess,  ther  ignerunt  ole  hulk  kin  git 
along,  sunihow. 

"Natur  is  kind  ter  me — jest  es  kind  es  tho'  I  was  es 
wise  es  Solomun.  Jest  tew  think  whut  thet  thar  sea  hes 
dun  fur  me — an'  look  at  this  ere  gardin.  Did  yer  ever 
see  anything  grow  like  it,  turkle  dove?  an'  them  thar 
roses  blow  es  red  an'  smell  es  sweet  fur  me  es  fur  eny 
uther  man,  an'  I  wudent  swap  my  turkle  dove  fur  ther 
richest  an'  beautifulest  woman  es  ever  lived. 

"Thar  air  eaglets,  an'  thar  air  turkle  doves,  au'  thar 
air  lions,  an'  thar  air  lams,  an'  thar  air  ole!  hulks;  an* 
yer  can't  change  one  inter  tother;  but,  howsumever,  I 
will  take  ther  gal's  inuny,  an'  thank  hur  tew;  fur,  turkle 
dove,  I  am  a  gittin'  a  leetle  stiff  in  ther  jints,  an 


164  MARK  CHESTER:   OB 

rumiticks  is  a  gittin'  inter  my  back  an'  sholders,  an' 
sumtimes,  when  I  am  a  rockin'  in  thet  thar  boat,  an'  ther 
sun's  a  blazin'  away  at  my  ole  head,  ther  same's  tho'  I 
war  a  yunger  man,  I  gits  a  leetle  dizzy,  like,  'specially 
when  them  yaller-tails  refuses  ter  bite. 

"An',  marm — ole  gal— ten  thousan'  dollars  '11  set  us  up 
in  good  shape,  an'  no  mistake! 

"I  think  we  kin  afford  ter  forgive  Jane." 

"Jane  has  never  been  a  very  bad  girl,"  said  Mrs. 
Kester,  "but  an  exceedingly  wilful  one." 

"Wall,  marm;  she  sez  es  how  it  hes  ben  ther  will  es 
hes  done  it;  but,  dew  yer  think,  turkle  dove,  es  Jane  '.'I 
be  happy?" 

"I  believe  she  will  be  happier  as  Marcus  Chesterfield's 
wife  than  in  any  other  way,"  answered  Mrs.  Kester. 
"As  you  say,  she  has  not  the  heart  of  a  dove.  Her  pride 
is  more  easily  wounded  than  her  love;  but  I  think  as  she 
does,  that  Marcus  Chesterfield,  with  all  his  wealth, 
would  have  made  Isabel  Morton  miserable;  and,  prob- 
ably, she  would  have  died  of  a  broken  heart." 


A   MILL   AND    A   MILLION.  165 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
MRS.    MORTON  BATTLES  WITH  A    SPECTRE. 

Mrs.  Kester  sent  Mrs.  Morton  a  note  in  which  she 
said: 

"Mrs.  Morton: 

"Dear  Madam.  I  am  exceedingly  sorry  to  inform  you 
that  my  daughter  Jane  has  married  Marcus  Chesterfield, 
and  they  are,  at  this  time,  on  their  way  to  Europe.  That 
Mr.  Chesterfield  has  not  dealt  honorably  by  your  daugh- 
ter, I  am  well  aware;  still,  there  are  many  other  young 
men  who  do  not  deal  honorably  with  young  ladies.  I 
hope  you  will  forgive  his  error.  Of  course,  my  daughter 
Jane  is  not  guiltless  in  this  matter;  but  I  have  already 
forgiven  her. 

"I  hope,  dear  madam,  you  will  not  take  this  misfortune 
very  greatly  to  heart;  for,  really,  after  all,  it  is  your 
daughter,  Isabel,  who  is  the  wronged  parly. 

"I  can  only  say,  madam,  that  I  am  very  sorry  that  my 
daughter  could  find  it  in  her  heart  to  wrong  so  sweft 
and  beautiful  a  girl  as  Isabel. 

"My  husband  joins  me  in  good  will  and  wishes  for  you 
both. 

"Yours  truly, 

"Mrs.  Nathaniel  Kester." 

When  Mrs.  Morton  received  this  note,  and  had  taken 
in  its  contents,  she  stood,  for  a  moment,  like  one  who  had 
received  a  mortal  blow,  and  then  fell  to  the  floor  with  a 
dull  thud. 

The  servants  hearing  the  fall,  rushed  into  the  room, 
room.  Isabel,  who  was  standing  at  the  time  before  the 
mirror,  combing  out  her  long,  beautiful  hair,  also  hurried 
to  the  spot,  still  not  thinking  the  noise  to  be  made  by 
her  mother. 

The  servants  hastily  placed  the  lady  on  her  bed  und 
then  applied  restoratives. 

Isabel  took  the  missive  from  the  hand  of  her  mother 
and  read  it;  and,  as  she  read,  her  countenance  beamed 


166  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

with  delight,  and  nothing  but  her  mother's  condition 
caused  her  the  slightest  sorrow.  But  that  mother  soon 
rallied,  then  went  into  screaming  hysterics. 

The  doctor  was  hastily  summoned.  He  ordered  quiet 
and  a  sedative,  and  when  the  lady  had  recovered  her 
composure  she  desired  to  be  left  alone. 

She  sat  in  her  room  speechless  for  hours,  her  eyes  filled 
with  a  wild,  despairing  light. 

"Oh,  could  it  be  possible,"  she  asked  herself,  "that 
Jane  Erie,  whom  she  had  looked  upon  as  little  less  than 
a  beggar,  was  the  wife  of  her  carefully  nurtured,  and 
beautiful  Isabel's  affianced  husband?"  O!  She  could  not 
believe  it.  She  would  not  believe  it.  There  was  his  last 
letter,  now,  lying  on  the  table.  In  it  he  had  said  that 
he  was  soon  to  be  paid  his  price  for  the  mines — five  mil- 
lions of  dollars— and  he  hoped  to  return  to  Redondo  be- 
fore the  winter  months,  that  he  might  be  in  readiness 
to  lead  his  promised  bride  to  the  altar  by  New  Year's 
day. 

This  note  which  Mrs.  Kester  had  sent  her,  was  an  im- 
position— that  was  certain.  Probably  Jane  herself  had 
caused  it  to  be  sent  from  a  spirit  of  revenge. 

"The  spiteful  cat!"  muttered  the  lady. 

And  thus  she  sat  cogitating  until  the  shades  of  night 
set  in.  She  would  not  go  down  to  thet  dinner,  but  or- 
dered a  cup  of  tea  and  some  toast  instead,  for,  truly, 
she  could  not  eat. 

After  the  tea  things  had  been  taken  away,  she  lighted 
the  grate,  as  the  evenings  were  once  more  becoming  a 
little  chilly,  and  then,  as  her  life  forces  began  to  return, 
her  rage  knew  no  bounds.  She  walked  back  and  forth 
in  her  room  like  some  wild  animal.  Her  soul  became  like 
that  of  a  ferocious  wild  tigress,  and  if  Jane  Erie  had 
been  in  the  room,  in  person,  Mrs.  Morton  would,  no 
doubt,  have  torn  her  in  pieces,  if  it  had  been  possible  to 
do  so. 

"The  vile  huzzy!"  she  ejaculated.  "The  miserable, 
plotting  demon!  She  has  long  been  in  league  with 
Satan,  I  know.  A  vile  imp  who  could  do  what  she  has 
done,  should  be  hung  without  judge  or  jury;  she  should 
by  lynched  and  torn  in  pieces,  flayed  alive,  tortured — 
oh,  there  is  nothing  that  would  be  too  bad  to  do  to  such 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  167 

a  vile  good  for  nothing,  but  evil  huzzy.  If  I  had  her 
here  now,  I  would  wring  her  neck  as  I  would  that  of  a 
fowl.  Beheading  would  be  too  good  for  her." 

"If  you  had  me  here  now?    Well,  madam,  I  am  here." 

A  voice  had  spoken.  Or,  was  it  the  rising  wind  or  the 
moan  of  the  sea?  No,  it  was  not;  for  there  she  stood — 
that  spectral  form  which  the  lady  had  seen  before.  She 
really  stood  there,  her  great,  flashing  eyes  fixed  on  the 
raging  woman. 

"Here  I  am,"  said  the  apparition.  "Wring  my  neck, 
if  you  can.  Much  good  might  it  do  you.  Your  thoughts 
are  fixed  so  intently  on  me,  madam,  that  my  soul  is 
drawn  into  your  presence.  Madam,  I  am  the  conqueror! 
You  are  the  conquered.  What  difference  does  it  make  to 
Eternity  which  of  us  is  the  vanquished  party?" 

Mrs.  Morton  stared,  foaming  with  rage,  at  the  vision. 

"Spectre,  devil,  or  both,"  she  gurgled,  "I  will  tear  you, 
whatever  you  are,"  and  she  rushed  wildly  forward  with 
extended  hands  and  clawing  fingers. 

The  spectral  form  advanced  to  meet  her.  The  raging 
woman  passed  directly  through  it,  half  falling  against 
the  wall  in  her  mad  charge— then,  she  faced  about  with 
glaring  eye-balls  and,  there  stood  the  form  the  same  as 
before — their  positions  simply  being  reversed — a  scornful 
smile  curling  the  lips. 

Again  Mrs.  Morton  charged  like  a  mad  bull,  passing 
directly  through  the  form,  as  before;  and  this  she  did  a 
half  dozen  times  or  more,  until  her  strength  was  ex- 
hausted, then  she  threw  herself  into  the  large  chair, 
panting  heavily,  with  heaving  breast. 

"Allow  me  to  ask  you  a  question,  Mrs.  Morton,"  whis- 
pered the  spectral  form.  "Which  one  of  us  is  the  huzzy 
—which  the  demon?  I  am  sure  I  think  epithets  fit  you; 
however,  I  am  perfectly  willing  you  should  have  them.  I 
can  well  afford  to  be  generous,  madam,  not  only  in  soul, 
but  in  material  wealth.  The  six  millions  are  mine,  Mrs. 
Morton,  instead  of  yours.  We  tilted  for  them,  you  see, 
and,  my  soul  or  will  power  being  the  stronger,  I  broke 
your  lance,  that  is  all. 

"What  do  you  care  for  Marcus  Chesterfield,  except  as 
an  adjunct  to  his  money?  I  have  not  tilted  with  your 
daughter,  madam.  I  scarcely  would  have  dared  to  cross 


168  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

lances  with  her.  Her  purity  and  innocence  would  have 
appalled  my  soul  and  rendered  me  cowardly.  She  is  good. 
I  am  not.  She  does  not  love  Marcus  Chesterfield — neither 
himself  nor  his  money.  I  love  him  as  much  as  I  am 
capable  of  loving  anyone,  and  his  money  far  better  than 
himself. 

"Madam,  it  is  you  whom  I  have  fought  and  conquered. 
I  am  now  Mrs.  Marcus  Chesterfield,  and,  if  I  can  help 
it,  you  shall  never  meet  my  husband  again.  This  is  the 
last  time  I  shall  trouble  you.  I  have  thrown  you  aside 
as  I  would  an  old  rag;  so,  good-bye!"  and  the  spectre 
was  gone. 

Mrs.  Morton  did  not  leave  her  room  again  for  a  num- 
ber of  weeks;  and  when  at  last  she  once  more  appeared 
before  her  household,  it  was  with  a  sorrowful  and  sub- 
dued air.  She  never  mentioned  to  anyone  having  battled 
with  a  vision. 


A   MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  169 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
SPIRITUAL  RAPPINGS. 

The  next  day  the  old  fisherman  went  out,  as  usual, 
with  Mark  Chester  in  the  boat.  The  old  man  was  un- 
usually silent  and  thoughtful  all  day. 

They  caught  an  immense  load  of  fish,  and  when  the 
boat  was  hauled  up  on  the  beach,  Nathaniel  said: 

"I  think  es  how,  pardner,  I  shell  hev  tew  stay  an'  help 
yer;  so  jist  yer  make  coffee  fur  two,  an'  fry  a  double 
lot  o'  fish.  I  am  jest  about  starved,  fur  sartin." 

Mark  lighted  a  fire,  made  the  coffee  for  two,  and 
broiled  the  fish,  very  glad,  indeed,  to  have  the  old  man 
keep  him  company.  But  Mr.  Kester  had  a  double  motive 
for  staying  tonight  under  any  circumstances,  for  he 
wished  to  talk  with  Mark  about  Jane.  The  young  man, 
as  yet,  had  heard  nothing,  and  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
where  she  could  be.  The  old  man  gulped  down  his  first 
cup  of  coffee. 

"Fill  'er  up  agin,  Mark,"  said  he.  "I  telled  turkle 
dove,  up  thar,  ter  go  tew  bed  an'  not  tew  set  up  fur  me, 
es  I  shud  stay  an  hour  or  tew  with  you,  es  she  knowed 
I  hed  sumwhat  tew  say  ter  ye. 

"Mann  hed  a  letter,  she  hes." 

"A  letter?"  asked  Mark,  elevating  his  brows  as  he» 
gave  the  old  man  an  inquiring  look. 

"Yis.  She's  hed  a  letter  frum  thet  thar  gal  o*  hern, 
an'  I'll  be  durned,  pardner,  ef  thet  thar  jade  haint  gone 
an'  got  married." 

"Married!"  exclaimed  the  young  man.  "Married?  To 
whom?" 

"Wall,  now,  I  don't  beleve  yer  cud  gess  frum  now  till 
doomsday." 

"I  do  not  know  about  that,"  said  Mark  with  a  wise, 
but  still  curious  look.  "But,  of  course,  dad,  you  do  not 
object  to  tell  me?" 

"Not  I,"  answered  Nathaniel.  "She's  jest  run  away 
an*  got  spliced  ter  thet  thar  cussed  millioner,  whose 
name  is  somewhat  like  youru,  my  boy." 


170  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"Do  you  mean  Marcus  Chesterfield?" 

"Wall,  shiver  my  old  timbers  ef  I  don't." 

Mark's  countenance  lighted  up  with  joy. 

"Then,  Miss  Isabel  Morton  is  free!"  he  exclaimed.  O! 
indeed,  uncle,  you  have  made  me  very  happy,  or,  rather, 
Jane  has." 

"Wall,  I  jest  knowed  es  much  aforehand.  Yer  dead 
in  love  with  thet  thar  gal,  ain't  yer,  now?" 

"I  love  her  better  than  my  own  life,"  answered  the 
young  man  solemnly,  but  with  shining  countenance— "and, 
now,  uncle,  I  must  tell  you  of  something  that  happened 
to  me  last  night.  I  was  sitting  by  my  fire,  as  usual.  I 
had  been  writing  in  my  book — for  you  must  know,  daddy, 
that  I  am  writing  another  novel — and  in  my  book,  my 
hero  was  situated  in  his  love  affair,  just  about  as  I  am- 
or, rather,  was,  until  you  told  me  that  Isabel  was  free. 
I  did  not  know  just  how  to  get  him  out  of  his  difficulty, 
so  threw  down  my  pen  and  sat  gazing  at  the  fire  rather 
dejectedly,  when  that  particular  electrical  chill  ran 
through  my  frame,  and  I  became  conscious  that  my 
mother's  spirit  was  bending  over  me.  You  know  that  I 
can  always  feel  her  long  and  beautiful  hair  sweeping 
about  my  head  and  face  at  such  times.  I  turned  my 
face  up  toward  her  rapturously. 

"  'Mother,'  I  said,  'you  have  told  me,  since  you  went  to 
the  spirit  world,  that  the  human  will  was  all  powerful  if 
properly  exercised;  but  I  cannot  hope  to  marry  the  wo- 
man I  love,  for  she  belongs  to  another,  and  it  would  be 
dishonorable  for  me  to  supplant  him.' 

"  'My  son— my  darling  son,'  she  softly  whispered  to  my 
inner  consciousness.  'Isabel  Morton  is  already  free. 
You  will  marry  the  woman  you  love;'  and  now,  tonight, 
you  corroborate  that  which  she  had  already  told  me.  O, 
indeed,  indeed,  I  am  a  happy  man!" 

"Wall,"  said  the  old  fisherman,  "ther  wurld  do  pro- 
gress, thet's  a  fact;  an'  I  am  powerful  sorry  thet  I  didn't 
know  about  ther  human  will  afore — say,  when  I  war  a 
yung  man— 'cause  I  mite  hev  hed  a  edacation  an'  larned 
all  about  grammer,  an'  so  on;  an'  then,  thet  thar  gal 
wudn't  a  hed  a  reson  fur  callin'  me  a  ignerent  old  hulk 
o'  a  fisherman." 

"Did  she  call  you  that,  Uncle  Kester?" 


A    MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  171 

"She  did,  my  boy,  an'  she  telled  ther  truth,  she  did. 
I  ain't  a  goin'  ter  blame  no  man— ner  woman  nether- 
fur  tellin'  ther  truth." 

"She  certainly  is  very  thankless  and  unfeeling." 

"Wall,  she  may  not  be  quite  es  earful  o'  my  feelin's 
es  you  be,  Mark;  but,  fur  all  o'  thet,  she  is  not  thank- 
less, fur  she  sent  turkle  dove  a  check  on  thet  thar  bank 
fur  five  thousan'  dollars,  an'  she's  a  goin'  fur  ter  send 
five  thousan'  more." 

Mark  opened  his  eyes  in  astonishment;  and  yet,  after 
all,  was  it  any  more  than  she  ought  to  have  do'ne? 

"Really,  uncle,  if  she  were  to  give  Mrs.  Kester  half  a 
million,  she  would  do  nothing  more  than  what  would  be 
right.  But,  nevertheless,  uncle,  I  am  very  glad,  indeed, 
that  you  and  your  wife  have  come  into  such  good  for- 
tune." 

"Wall,  now,  boy,  so  am  I,  an'  I  am  glad  thet  I  wus 
alers  good  tew  thet  thar  gal.  Sum  step-fathers  mitn't 
hev  treated  her  well." 

"Uncle,  one  word  more  before  you  go." 

The  old  man  had  risen  to  depart. 

"I  desire  to  marry  Isabel  Morton,  and  I  also  desire  to 
be  worth  a  million  dollars.  Do  you  believe  that  by  exer- 
cising my  will  power  to  the  utmost,  I  shall  be  able  to  ac- 
complish, or  bring  to  pass,  that  which  I  desire  so  much?" 

"Perhaps  so,  boy— perhaps  so.  This  is  an  age  o' 
steam,  this  is  a  age  o'  electricity,  an'  they  bottle  up 
sound,  an'  when  they  git  ready  they  let  it  off  a  whizzing, 
an'  I'll  be  durned  ef  I  didn't  go  inter  a  show  the  other 
nite,  right  here  in  Redonder— in  this  ere  little  town  o* 
Redonder — an'  see  a  bull  fite,  an'  a  lot  er  men  a  mo  win', 
an'  a  murder  er  tew,  an'  a  woman  a  washin'  of  a  black 
boy  ter  make  him  white;  an'  ther  betenist  thing  o'  all 
wus  a  train  o'  keers — ther  'lightnin'  express,'  they  called 
it— an'  thet  thar  train  o'  keers  wus  a  cumin*  rite  down 
onter  me  an  marm,  es  sure  es  yer  live;  rite  thar  in  thet 
thar  hall,  an'  we  a  settin'  in  our  seats.  I  jumped  up  an' 
yelled  with  all  my  mite:  'Stop  them  thar  keers— stop  um! 
What  in  thunder  air  ye  a  doin'  ?'  Turkle  dove  she  pulled 
et  my  coat,  an*  ther  people  all  laffed  an'  cried:  'Down  in 
front — down  in  front!  Put  him  out — put  him  out!'  I 
didn't  keer  a  fig  fur  all  ther  yellin',  but  when  marm 


172  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

pulled  et  my  coat  an'  sed,  smiliu'  an'  soft  like,  'Na- 
thaniel, it's  only  a  pictur',  I  sot  down  an',  Jerusalem- 
jewhiteker!  ef  thet  thar  train  o'  keers  warn't  out  o'  sight 
in  a  jiffy,  an'  a  gal  wus  a  dancin'  an'  a  whirl-a-gigin' 
about  like  mad,  an'  she  wus  a  mity  purty  gal,  tew. 
Now  I  say,  yung  feller,  thet  this  is  a  curus  age,  an'  ef 
they  kin  make  picturs  run  like  ther  litenin'  express,  an' 
fite  like  Spanish  bulls,  an'  dance  jest  like  a  surcus  gal, 
an'  ride  bosses,  an'  so  furth— picturs,  I  say,  thet  kin  dew 
all  this— I  gess  yer  hev  steam  enuf  inside  o'  yer— er  will 
power,  es  yer  call  it — pears  to  me  it's  all  one  an'  ther 
same — 1  gess  yer  kin  do  a  most  enything  yer  like." 
"Well,  uncle,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  should  like." 
"Oh,  I  know  what  yer'd  like,  an'  what  a  most  eny 
uther  man  erd  like.  Yer'd  like  ter  be  rich,  now,  wudern't 
yer?" 

"Yes:  I  desire  to  be  rich— very  rich,  indeed;  but  I 
desire  riches  for  a  particular  purpose.  Not  for  my  own 
selfish  gratification,  but  that  I  may  benefit  mankind  in 
general,  and  the  very  poor  in  particular.  I  am  thinking 
continually  of  plans  whereby  I  might  benefit  poor  men 
and  their  families.  Uncle,  I  have  made  considerable 
money  this  year,  but  the  amount  of  money  I  could  make 
in  these  various  ways  would  not  be  sufficient  to  do  much. 
I  am  sure,  if  I  were  worth  a  million  or  so — say,  for  in- 
stance, as  much  as  Marcus  Chesterfield  is,  I  could  work 
for  the  world  to  some  purpose." 

"Wall,  lad,  thar  is  only  one  way  about  these  parts  thet 
a  man  kin  git  very  rich;  an'  thet  way  pears  ter  be  all 
luck  an'  chance.  Ther  biggist  rascal  as  ever  lived,  stands 
jest  es  good  a  chance  es  a  'onest  man.  Thar  air  sum  big 
mineral  deposits  in  them  thar  mountins,  over  thar,  an'  ef 
yer  cud  disciver  a  big  gold  mine  in  them  hills  yender,  an' 
cud  sell  it  ter  sum  o'  them  New  Yorkers,  yet  mite  be 
rich  in  no  time." 

"Then  you  think,  uncle,  that  is  my  only  chance  here?" 
"It's  yer  only  chance  o'  gitin'  teribul  rich." 
"But  the  trouble  is  in  knowing  just  how  to  find  one  of 
those  rich  mines.    I  might  prospect  for  a  life  time  and 
not  be  successful." 

"Thet's  jest  what  I  sed,  young  mam.  It's  all  luck  an' 
chance." 


A   MILL    AND    A   MILLION.  173 

"Perhaps  not.  This  is  an  age,  as  you  have  already 
said,  when  hidden  forces  are  being  brought  to  light.  I 
believe,  dad,  that  there  are  hidden  forces  which  can  be 
brought  to  bear  in  finding  gold  mines." 

"Wall,  now,  I  hev  hed  sum  sich  thots  myself,  specially 
arter  I  seen  them  thar  picturs  es  cud  dew  eanamost  eny- 
thing  thet  livin'  foks  kin  dew." 

"Sit  down,  uncle,  and  let  us  talk  this  matter  over  a 
bit — moreover,  I  have  something  I  want  to  tell  you 
about. 

"You  know  that  I  have  written  one  novel,  and  that  I 
am  now  writing  another.  My  first  story  has  already  been 
published,  and  received  considerable  commendation." 

"An'  dew  yer  expect  ter  airn  a  million  dollars  a  'ritin' 
o'  novils?" 

"No,  uncle.  I  do  not  expect  to  earn  a  penny  at  the 
business  of  story  writing;  quite  the  contrary.  I  give  my 
time,  talent,  postage  stamps  and  paper  gratis.  I 
even  am  obliged  to  buy  my  own  ink;  bufi  this  is  not  the 
point;  it  is  something  else  I  wish  to  tell  you  of.  While 
I  sit  at  my  little  table  writing,  I  hear  peculiar  sounds, 
raps  or  knockings." 

"Dew  tell,  now!  Why,  boy,  them  thar  sounds  must  be 
spiritual  rappins!" 

"I  think  you  are  right,  uncle.  At  first  I  thought  the 
sounds  were  accidental;  but  I  soon  discovered  they  were 
not,  for  I  noticed  that  when  I  was  writing  anything  par- 
ticularly good— especially  anything  pertaining  to  the  wel- 
fare of  humanity— they  would  be  loud  and  distinct.  To 
make  sure  that  it  was  not  the  creaking  or  snapping  of 
the  table,  caused  by  the  motion  of  my  hands  and  arms 
in  the  act  of  writing,  I  leaned  back  in  my.  chair,  simply 
allowing  my  hands  to  rest  lightly  on  the  table;  then  the 
raps  would  come,  sounding  very  much  like  the  ticking  of 
the  electric  telegraph.  At  last  I  began  to  ask  questions, 
and  I  soon  found  that  I  was  talking  with  intelligent 
beings.  The  answers  to  my  questions  soon  informed  me 
that  my  mother's  love  for  me  was  so  great  that  she,  be- 
ing in  constant  rapport  with  me  and,  consequently,  know- 
ing or  reading  my  mind,  had  interested  a  number  of 
great,  grand,  and  good  spirits  in  me  and  that  which  I 
wished  to  accomplish;  they  have  also  informed  me,  in 


174  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

this  manner,  that  they  are  unceasingly  and  untiringly 
working  for  the  enlightenment  and  uplifting  of  the 
whole  world,  and  that  it  is  only  through  unseen  forces 
that  this  can  be  done.  They  desire  that  all  war  shall 
cease;  they  desire  that  all  men  shall  be  brothers;  they 
desire  that  there  shall  be  no  exceedingly  rich  men  and 
that  there  shall  be  no  poverty  stricken  ones;  they  desire 
that  no  one  human  being  shall  prey  upon  another;  they 
desire  that  men  and  women  shall  be  equal;  they  desire 
that  men  shall  be  as  pure  as  they  expect  women  to  be, 
or  as  society  in  general  expects  them  to  be;  they  desire 
that  all  monopolies  shall  be  expelled  from  the  earth,  es- 
pecially land  monopolies,  for  give  the  poor  man  land, 
which  he  really  should  receive  free,  and  poverty  would 
cease  to  be.  Now,  all  this  was  told  me  by  the  clickiugs 
or  rappings  on  my  own  little  table  as  I  sat  alone,  and 
they  told  me  what  you  have  already  said,  that  there  ex- 
ist many  large  and  valuable  gold  mines  in  the  Sierra 
Madre  range  of  mountains.  They  also  told  me  that  they 
would  lead,  or  guide,  me  to  some  of  the  richest  of  them 
and  that  the  desire  of  my  heart  should  be  gratified;  but 
that  after  I  had  become  possessed  of  the  now  hidden 
wealth,  if  I  did  not  use  it  for  the  benefit  of  humanity,  it 
should  be  taken  from  me  in  various  ways  instigated  by 
them;  for  they  who  are  high  in  the  spheres  of  spiritual 
life  will  assist  no  one  in  obtaining  wealth  at  the  expense 
of  his  poorer  brother  man." 

"An*  how  kin  they  show  yer  whar  these  mines  air?" 
asked  the  old  fisherman. 

"My  mother  has  promised  to  show  me  in  a  dream. 
She  says  thafc;by  opening  up  these  hidden  treasures  the 
world's  riches  will  be  augmented,  but  they  should  never 
be  snown  to  anyone  who  will  not  work  for  the  good  of 
the  world.  The  earth  holds  concealed  within  her  bosom 
untold  wealth,  vast  resources,  and  those  who  will  work 
for  the  good  of  all,  for  the  good  of  truth,  for  the  good  of 
right  principles,  for  the  downfall  of  error,  will  be  aided 
to  obtain  this  wealth  that  truth  and  justice  may  prevail. 
That  is  all  I  have  to  tell  you,  uncle,  but  I  soon  expect  to 
be  guided  to  those  mines  by  this  band  of  spirits  that  my 
loving  mother  has  brought  to  me — the  band  of  powerful 
invisibles— quietly  in  my  room." 


A   MILL    AND   A   MILLION.  175 

"Wall,  boy;  what  hes  thet  thar  tew  dew  with  your  a 
gittin'  o'  thet  thar  million  o'  money?" 

"Very,  very  much  to  do  with  it,  uncle,  as  you  will  soon 
discover.  I  want  this  money  to  help  bring  about*  the 
state  of  things  I  mention.  All  the  theorizing  and  writing 
in  the  world  will  never  bring  these  things  to  pass.  It 
must  be  done  by  practical  persons  who  have  money  or 
means  to  do  with.  A  man  without  means  is  already 
beneath  the  wheels  of  the  car  of  monopoly.  He  is  help- 
less. He  can  do  nothing.  It  is  rich  men — men  of  large 
resources— who  must  become  interested  in  these  great 
truths. 

"Take,  for  instance,  a  dozen  or  more  multi-millionaires, 
and  let  them  desire  nothing  so  much  as  to  benefit  strug- 
gling humanity,  and  see  the  millions  of  human  beings 
they  could  make  happy  and  content.  But  how  is  it  now? 
These  millionaires  grow  richer  and  richer  by  robbing  the 
poor  man  of  his  hard  earned  money.  Otherwise  they 
couldv  not  grow  so  immensely  wealthy. 

"Now  I  desire  money  that  I  may  do  good  with  it,  and 
I  desire  to  obtain  it  in  such  a  way  that  it  shall  make 
no  man  poorer  in  consequence.  I  do  not  wish  to  rob,  in 
any  way,  any  human  being;  but  in  whatever  manner  I 
may  obtain  wealth,  I  desire  that  the  means  by,  or 
through  which  I  obtain  it,  shall  be  a  benefit  to  the  poor 
man." 

"Yis,  lad,  I  understand.  Wall;  why  didn't  yer  ax  them 
thar  sperits  ter  help  ye?" 

"That  is  precisely  what  I  did  do." 

"Wall,  it's  one  o'  ther  beaten'ist  things  I  ever  hearn  tell 
on.  It  is  better'n  them  thar  livin'  picture;  it's  better'n 
them  yaller-tails;  but,  arter  all,  I  don't  know  bout  thet." 

"Well,"  said  Mark,  smiling,  "the  sea  first  supplied  my 
wants — the  land  has  given  me  a  surplus — the  mountains 
shall  give  me  wealth— and  the  sea,  the  land,  and  the 
mountains,  can  all  be  taken  in  at  one  sweeping  glance. 
I  can  easily  travel  from  the  sea  to  the  mountains  be- 
tween sunrise  and  sunset  and  rest  a  couple  of  hours  in 
the  heat  of  the  day  besides. 

"Good  night,  daddy.  Kiss  that  turtle  dove  of  yours 
for  me,  for  is  she  not  my  motheV  by  adoption,  and  Jane 
my  sister?" 


176  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 

"She  is  yer  marni,  fur  sartin,  boy,  an'  thet  curus,  wil- 
ful gal's  yer  sister,  an'  no  mistake.  Good-night,  lad. 
God;  bless  yer,  an'  all  them  thar  sperits  help  yer.  Gess, 
lad,  es  how  I  will  go  with  yer  ter  them  thar  mountins, 
an'  I'll  let  thet  thar  poor  feller  es  broke  his  leg,  hev 
Molly— an'  thet  reminds  me  es  how  I,  tew,  hed  a  curus 
dream.  I  thot  es  how  Molly  cum  an'  telled  me  thet  I 
shud  be  rich  fur  sartin,  an'  thet  when  it  all  cum  ter  pass 
I  should  let  thet  poor  feller  an  his  wife  hev  my  boat 
ter  git  a  livin'  with,  es,  he  cudn't  wurk  on  ther  land, 
owin'  ter  his  lameness. 

"Good  night!     Good  night!" 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  177 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

A  DREAM,    YET  NOT   A   DREAM. 

Mark  loved  Isabel  Morton,  as  the  reader  already 
knows;  and,  before  going  to  the  mountains,  he  deter- 
mined to  have  an  interview  with  her  and  plead  his  suit, 
for  he  had  reason  to  think  that  she  was  not  indifferent  to 
him.  She  was  now  free  from  her  former  bonds.  Still, 
he  had  a  secret  misgiving  that  Mrs.  Morton  would  not 
favor  his  suit;  yet  he  knew,  intuitively,  that  it  had  been 
Marcus  Chester  field's  millions  that  had  gained  that 
lady's  favor  more  than  his  personality. 

He  would  like  to  have  the  mother's  full  consent  as 
well  as  the  daughter's.  He  hoped  that  if  he  married 
Isabel,  they,  together,  might  make  that  lady  happy.  He 
well  knew  that  it  ought  not  to  require  a  million  dollars 
for  that  purpose,  yet  the  mother's  consent  and  happi- 
ness entered  largely  into  his  calculations,  and  was  an- 
other secret  incentive  for  him  to  strive  to  obtain  the 
amount  of  money  he  desired.  He  had  not  been  able, 
thus  far,  to  see  Isabel  alone  at  her  own  home,  but  he 
was  determined  to  ask  her  for  a  private  interview  when 
he  should  meet  her  at  the  next  rehearsal — and  this  he 
did.  While  they  lingered  a  little  behind  the  others,  he 
took  her  hand  in  his.  It  trembled  within  his  grasp. 
This  gave  him  hope. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  but  it  was  nearly 
as  light  as  day,  for  the  moon  was  full. 

"I  greatly  fear,  Mr.  Chester,"  she  said,  "that  it  will 
not  be  possible  for  us  to  converse  alone  at  my  home,  but 
I  will  sit  a  moment  with  you  on  yonder  bench.  The 
evening  is  exceedingly  beautiful,  and  it  is  almost  as 
light  as  day." 

Mark's  heart  gave  a  bound.  The  bench  toward  which 
she  pointed  was  the  very  one  where  he  had  sat  the  night 
of  his  arrival  at  Redondo. 

They  lingered,  walking  slowly  behind  the  others,  and 
then  stole  quietly  down  upon  the  beach  and  seated  them- 


178  MARK  CHESTER:    OK 

selves  on  the  fateful  bench— fateful  on  account  of  its 
solitude,  as  some  people  are  on  account  of  their  solitude. 

Mark  in  a  straightforward  and  manly  way  told  Isabel 
of  his  great  love  for  her,  asking  her  to  become  his  wife. 
He  then  told  her  everything  concerning  himself,  and 
his  life,  even  to  the  minutest  detail,  for  Mark  Chester 
had  no  secret  sins  to  conceal.  He  told  her  what  his 
present  means  were,  and  how  he  hoped  to  find  wealth 
in  the  mines;  he  also  told  her  how  he  had  been  influ- 
enced in  that  direction. 

The  young  girl  told  him,  with  many  blushes,  that  she 
loved  him  in  return,  that  she  believed  she  must  have 
loved  him  from  the  first  time  they  met,  but  she  did  not 
think  her  mother  would  consent  to  their  union,  at  least, 
not  at  present.  She  then  solemnly  promised  to  wed  no 
other,  arid  when  he  returned  from  his  quest,  she  would 
be  his  wife,  even  if  her  mother  was  not  willing;  but,  she 
added: 

"I  think  my  mother  would  consent  to  our  union  if  you 
were  to  be  successful;  for  my  own  part,  I  would  marry 
you  if  you  had  not  a  farthing.  We  would  strive  to- 
gether, dear,  and  amass  enough  to  make  us  comfortable. 
We  could  gain  a  competence,  I  am  sure." 

Mark  was  also  sure  of  it,  but  as  he  told  her,  he  wanted 
to  do  good  for  the  world  at  large. 

"Something  of  that  kind  has  been  the  dream  of  my 
life,  as  well,"  she  replied,  "but,  until  we  met,  I  did  not 
know  how  it  could  ever  be  accomplished." 

"The  dreams  of  one's  life  are  never  fulfilled  until 
those  who  are  intended  for  each  other,  by  nature,  are 
wedded,"  he  said;  "and,  you  and  I,  darling  Isabel,  are 
the  true  counterparts  of  each  other." 

Mark  returned  to  his  room  that  night  happier  than 
he  had  ever  been  before  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life. 
Isabel,  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  had  promised  to  be 
his  wife — the  only  woman,  as  he  believed,  he  should  ever 
love.  He  desired  to  love  all  the  world,  but  only  one  as 
the  other  half  of  his  own  being. 

Isabel,  when  she  returned  to  her  own  room  that  night, 
laid  her  head  on  her  pillow,  a  sweet  smile  hovering 
about  her  lips  and  happy  contentment  in  her  heart. 
Mark  fulfilled  her  girlish  dreams.  She  desired  to  marry 


A   MILL   AND   A   MILLION.  179 

for  love— and  love  alone.  Her  womanly  instincts  were 
not  at  fault.  Her  heart  desired  a  man,  pure,  noble,  and 
good — an  unselfish  man — but,  not  unmindful  of  self,  how- 
ever, a  man  who  would  be  mindful  of  self  enough  to 
provide  well  for  his  own  household,  a  man  broad  and 
noble  enough,  when  he  had  accomplished  this,  to  work 
for  the  rest  of  humanity:  a  capable  man,  so  capable 
that  he  not  only  would  be  able  to  provide  well  for  his 
own  household,  but  to  help  elevate  others.  She  believed 
Mark  to  be  a  man  of  this  character;  and,  as  the  reader 
has  already  been  made  acquainted  with  the  young  man, 
he  can  readily  see  that  she  was  mot  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment. 

When  Mark  laid  his  head  on  his  pillow,  he  prayed 
earnestly  to  his  mother  to  come  to  him: 

"Mother— dear  mother,  I  desire  wealth  that  I  may  use 
it  to  benefit  the  world,  and  you  have  promised  to  aid 
me.  Now,  dearest  mother,  in  my  dreams  tonight,  show 
me  the  spot  in  the  mountains  where  I  shall  be  able  to 
locate  my  mines  •  to  the  best  advantage.  Bring  to  me 
this  powerful  basd  of  spirits,  who  desire  to  use  me  as 
an  instrument  toward  helping  the  world  in  general,  and 
show  me  the  place." 

He  then  fell  asleep,  believing  that  his  prayers  would 
be  answered,  and  he  was  not  disappointed. 

That  night  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  left  his  body  and 
went  out  into  the  starlight.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
was  floating,  or  hovering  in  the  atmosphere,  some  ten 
or,  perhaps,  twenty  feet  above  the  solid  ground;  the 
beautiful  form  of  his  spirit  mother  by  his  side,  her 
large,  soft  eyes  gazing  into  his  so  lovingly.  Her  angelic 
hand  was  clasped  in  his,  supporting  and  sustaining  him. 
Her  robes— gossamer  in  texture — were  floating  back- 
ward as  she  moved  along,  showing  the  graceful  outlines 
of  her  superb  form;  the  dark  masses  of  her  unbound 
hair  flowing  about  her  like  a  veil,  her  beautiful  fea- 
tures eipanating  a  halo  of  light,  love  for  her  boy  glori- 
ously shining  forth  upon  him. 

"My  son,  my  darling  boy!"  she  said  in  silvery  tones. 
"I  have  heard  your  prayer  and  am  here  to  answer  it. 
You  desire  riches  to  do  good  with,  consequently,  the 
angels  will  help  you;  and  they  are  willing  to  help  all 


180  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

who  desire  wealth  for  the  purpose  of  using  it  toward 
elevating  humanity.  There  is  not  a  man,  or  woman,  on 
earth,  who  earnestly  desires  means,  wherewith  to  bene- 
fit the  world,  but  whose  prayer  shall  be  answered,  and 
wealth  shall  be  given  for  the  purpose;  but  those  who 
desire  it  for  their  own  selfish  gratification,  their  prayers 
shall  not  be  answered. 

"My  son,  look  about  you." 

Mark  cast  his  eyes  around,  when,  to  his  astonished 
gaze,  there  appeared  a  large  concourse  of  spiritual  be- 
ings—beings so  beautiful  and  bright,  that,  at  first,  they 
dazzled  his  sight;  but,  gradually,  his  eyes  became  accus- 
tomed to  look  upon  them;  then,  a  number  of  them 
approached  him,  and  one  said: 

"Young  man,  you  have  been  found  worthy,  therefore 
your  prayer  shall  be  granted.  Come  with  us." 

Then  two  powerful  and  beautiful  spirits  placed  them- 
selves, one  on  either  side  of  him,  sustaining  him  be- 
neath his  arms;  another,  brighter  and  more  powerful, 
even,  than  the  others,  led  the  way,  and  they  all  glided 
toward  the  not  far  distant  mountains,  and,  as  they 
thus  glided,  a  beautiful  city  came  into  view— the  city 
of  Los  Angeles.  Here  they  paused  as  if  to  show  him 
his  bearings. 

"My  son,"  whispered  his  mother,  "note  well  all  the 
places  where  we  make  a  pause.  We  pause  that  yow 
may  take  note  and  remember.  You  must  come  to  Los 
Angeles  first." 

Now  they  floated  on,  pausing  once  more  over  a  vil- 
lage— the  village  of  Glendale,  a  beautiful  glen  among  the 
foothills  of  the  Sierra  Madre  range;  on  once  more  they 
moved,  until  they  paused  at  one  of  the  Sierra  ridges. 
This  mountain  was  bare  and  rocky,  with  white  zigzag 
paths  running  over  it  and  around  and  about  it. 

"Now,"  said  the  voice  of  one  of  the  band,  "it  is  in 
this  mountain  that  the  largest  amount  of  gold  will  be 
found.  Look  at  it  well,  that  you  may  not  forget." 

And  Mark  looked  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  The 
mountain  was  not  quite  as  high  as  some  others — not  as 
high  as  Mount  Lowe — and  was  covered  by  white  barren 
spaces,  this  mountain  showing  more  of  them  than  any 
other.  Then  Mark  was  taken  directly  to  the  largest 


A  MILL  AND   A   MILLION.  181 

of  these  barren,  white  spots.  From  this  spot  they  began 
to  float  downward,  until  they  reached  a  wild  gorge,  and 
here  they  found  quite  a  stream  of  water  flowing.  The 
water  was  as  clear  as  crystal.  They  followed  this 
stream  up  until  they  came  to  its  source.  Here  they 
found  a  number  of  large  springs,  some  spurting  or  bub- 
bling up  into  the  air  a  foot  or  more.  The  spot  was 
wildly,  grandly  beautiful. 

"Now,"  said  one  of  the  guides,  "observe  and  remem- 
ber. Within  the  bowels  of  this  mountain  are  hidden  vast 
stores  of  golden  ore,  besides  other  valuable  minerals. 
You  may  open  the  mountain  at  almost  any  point  within 
twenty  paces  of  these  springs  and  you  will  come  upon 
gold;  but,  twenty  paces  to  the  right  of  the  largest 
spring,  you  will  strike  a  large  vein.  This  vein  has  been 
caused,  in  past  ages,  by  the  trickling  of  a  stream  of 
water,  as  it  wept  its  way  through  a  large  pocket — or 
mine — or  deposit  of  gold.  We  would  advise  you  to  tun- 
nel, or  follow  the  vein  until  you  come  to  the  pocket. 
You  are  worth  at  this  time  over  three  thousand  dollars. 
This  amount  will  be  sufficient  to  do  all  that  is  neces- 
sary. When  you  discover  the  pocket,  sell,  as  soon  as 
possible,  for  one  million  dollars.  There  is  hidden  within 
this  vicinity  at  least  ten  million  dollars;  but  do  not  keep 
it.  One  million  is  all  you  need  for  your  purpose,  and 
the  labor  of  working  it  for  more  would  be  more  than 
you  could  bear.  Let  others  delve  for  the  gold.  Go  you 
and  benefit  the  world." 

"But  who  will  buy?"  asked  Mark. 

"A  New  York  Syndicate,"  answered  the  spirit.  "Re- 
member! Do  not  forget  the  way,  nor  the  spot,  and  all 
will  be  well  with  you." 

Saying  this,  the  company  of  spirits  departed  from  his 
view — all  except  his  beautiful  mother,  who  accompanied 
him  back  to  the  hotel  in  Redomdo. 


182  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PROSPECTING    FOR   GOLD. 

When  the  young  man  awoke  again  within  his  mortal 
body,  the  clock  was  just  striking  twelve.  He  had  not 
been  unconscious,  or  asleep,  more  than  an  hour,  yet  he 
had  been  shown  all  these  things. 

The  old  fisherman  and  the  young  man  did  aot  go  out 
in  the  boat  the  next  day;  but  the  lame  young  man  and 
his  wife  went  in  their  stead,  and  Mark  and  Uncle  Kester 
had  a  long  interview.  When  Mark  had  finished  telling 
the  old  man  of  his  dream,  and  what  had  been  thus 
shown  him,  Nathaniel  remained  in  deep  thought  for 
some  time. 

"I  beleve  every  wurd  on't,"  said  he  at  last;  "but,  how- 
sumever,  we  both  need  a  rest  an'  change  o'  sene.  Now 
I'll  jest  tell  yer  whut  we'll  dew.  We'll  buy  a  fust  class 
travelin'  van,  with  a  pair  o'  good,  stout  hosses;  then 
turkle  dove  she  shell  go  with  us  in  her  cuverd  buggy. 
We  kin  git  ter  thet  thar  spot  in  jest  about  three  days 
good  travil.  We'll  jest  load  thet  thar  van  with  pix  an' 
spades  an'  plenty  o'  provisions,  an*  a  cupple  o'  nice 
tents,  an'  we'll  jest  go  thar  to  thet  thar  spot  an'  pitch 
our  tents.  Turkle  dove  shell  take  a  good,  strong  gal 
along  thet'll  dew  our  cookin'  fur  us,  an'  we'll  take  one 
o'  them  thar  strong  yung  fellers  frum  ther  settlemint, 
an'  we'll  go  thar  an'  camp,  hev  a  good  time  meanwhile, 
an'  see  whut  we  kin  disciver." 

Mark  thought  this  an  excellent  plan,  and  he  and  the 
old  man  were  not  long  in  putting  it  into  execution.  Mrs. 
Kester  was  delighted  at  the  thought  of  going,  and  the 
next  week  found  them  on  their  way. 

Mark  had  another  interview  with  Isabel.  She  also  was 
very  much  pleased,  and  never  a  doubt  entered  her  mind 
but  that  her  lover  would  be  successful  in  his  quest  for 
that  which  is  called  filthy  lucre,  still,  all  are  struggling 
and  grasping  for  it,  some  for  one  purpose  and  some  for 
another;  but  very  few,  indeed,  for  the  purpose  of  bene- 
fiting their  brother  man. 


A   MILL  AND   A   MILLION.  183 

When  all  men  and  women  lose  sight  of  themselves  in 
their  efforts  to  help  others  in  the  world  who  are  weaker, 
greater  wealth  will  be  given  them;  for  then  the  whole 
angel  world  become  interested,  and  together  many  come 
to  aid  them;  for  the  higher  angels  think  of  little  else 
than  how  they  may  benefit  those  below  them,  the  op- 
pressed, the  down  trodden,  the  weary,  the  hungry,  the 
cold,  the  ignorant.  The  words  of  one  who  lived"  long  ago 
are  ever  in  their  thoughts. 

"Come  to  me  all  ye  who  are  weary  and  heavy  laden, 
and  I  will  give  you  rest." 

How  little  people  in  general  of  the  past  have  under- 
stood that  text.  They  have  supposed  it  to  mean,  to  pray 
to  Christ  the  Lord  Jesus;  but  the  words  really  never 
meant  anything  of  the  kind.  They  do  mean:  Pray 
earnestly,  and  look  to  the  Spirit  World  for  help.  We 
may  call  the  Spiritual  Realms  Christ,  if  we  please.  It  is 
not  one  being,  in  the  person  of  a  Christ,  who  answers 
prayer;  but  many,  very  many  good  spirits  within  the 
spiritual  world. 

Mark,  together  with  those  who  accompanied  him, 
found  themselves  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  mountain, 
on  the  third  day  of  their  journey.  The  sun  was  fast 
nearing  the  horizon,  apparently  ready  to  take  a  bath  in 
the  gleaming  ocean,  when  they  unharnessed  their  tired 
horses  and  commenced  to  strike  their  tents  for  the  night. 
A  camp-fire  was  soon  blazing  and  by  the  time  the  full 
moon  rose  over  the  top  of  "Old  Baldie,"  they  were 
clinking  cups  and  saucers,  knives  and  forks,  laughing 
and  talking  gleefully.  The  scene  before  them  was  most 
grand  and  sublime,  and  their  laughter  rang  and  echoed 
among  the  hills  as  though  there  had  been  quite  an  army 
encamped  there,  instead  of  simply  five  persons. 

The  moon  shone  so  brightly  that  after  supper  the  old 
fisherman  and  Mark  thought  they  would  look  about  a 
little.  They  had  walked  but  a  short  distance  when  the 
old  man  exclaimed: 

"Jewhiteker!  Jerusalem!  Ef  thar  ain't  them  thar 
springs  yer  telled  on,  rite  ahed." 

"I  believe  you  are  right,"  said  Mark.  "Those  who 
love  us  in  the  other  life,  do  not  deceive  us.  Here  aiv 
the  springs  just  as  they  showed  me.  You  must  ^remember, 


184  MARK  CHESTER:     OR 

uncle,  I  have  seen  these  springs  before.  They  look  pre- 
cisely as  they  did  when  I  visited  them  with  my  mother 
and  other  spirits." 

"An'  they  telled  yer  twenty  paces  ter  ther  left,  didn't 
they?" 

"No,  uncle.    Twenty  paces  to  the  right." 

"Egzactly!     Now,  let's  pace  it  off,  pardner." 

So  they  paced  off  twenty  paces. 

"Let's  put  a  big  rock  here  fur  luck,"  said  the  old  man. 

So  they  rolled  a  huge  stone  to  the  spot. 

"We'll  commence  ter  dig  here  in  ther  mornin',  yung 
feller,"  cried  the  old  man. 

"All  right,  uncle!     That  is  what  we  are  here  for." 

"This  ere  is  ther  betenist  thing  I  ever  hearn  tell  on. 
I'll  bet  a  taller  candle  thet  yer'll  soon  be  a  cussed  mil- 
lioner,  arter  all.  But  who  cud  a  thot  it  thet  night  as  yer 
set  all  alone,  out  thar  on  thet  thar  bench,  on  old  Re- 
donder  beach,  without  a  cent  in  yer  pockit,  nowhar  ter 
sleep,  ner  nothin'  ter  eat?" 

"You  forget,  uncle,  that  I  had  one  mill  in  my  pocket." 

"Thet's  so,  yung  feller,  an'  at  ther  end  o'  a  year,  or 
perhaps  next  New  Year's  eve,  yer'll  hev  a  million." 

"And  I  swear  by  the  bright  moon  above  me,  and  by  all 
the  beautiful  stars,  and  by  my  loving  and  sainted  mother, 
and  the  guiding  angels  who  were  with  her,  that  if  I  do 
find  myself  possessed  of  such  an  amount  of  money,  1 
will  give  the  remainder  of  my  life,  all  of  it  except  that 
part  which  must  be  devoted  toward  making  Isabel  Mor- 
ton happy,  to  suffering  humanity  for  the  amelioration  of 
their  woes.  I  wrill  help  to  redress  their  wrongs  and  try 
to  do  my  part  toward  setting  the  world  right." 

"Amen!  Amen!"  ejaculated  the  old  man.  "I  am  a 
gittin'  nerly  thro*  with  this  life  myself,  but  I'll  help  yer 
all  I  kin,  be  sure  o'  thet." 

"I  know  you  will,  uncle." 

They  clasped  each  other  by  the  hand  to  seal  the  com- 
ract  and  turned  their  faces  upward  toward  the  bright 
moon;  as  they  did  so,  both  started;  for  surely  there  were 
many  misty  forms  hovering  over  them,  one  more  distinctly 
outlined  than  the  others,  and  that  one,  the  beautiful, 
spiritual  form,  with  the  dark  floating  hair,  the  spirit  of 
Mark's  mother.  But  they  soon  melted  away  in  the 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  185 

bright  rays  of  the  moonlight,  and  Mark  and  the  old 
fisherman  returned  to  camp.  Turtle  dove  was  soon 
taken  into  the  old  man's  confidence. 

"Dearie,"  said  he,  "them  spiritual  bein's  watch  over  us, 
es  sure  es  yer  live,  an'  no  mistake." 

"I  have  long  been  convinced  of  that  fact,"  answered 
Mrs.  Kester,  "and  we  are  all  benefited  when  we  listen 
to  the  voices  of  the  invisible  ones." 

The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  long  before  the 
god  of  the  day  made  himself  visible  over  the  crests  of  the 
mountains,  Mark  Chester  and  the  old  fisherman  went 
forth  from  the  camp  prospecting  for  the  precious  metal, 
gold.  Gold  that  does  so  much  good,  and  gold  that  does 
so  much  harm,  according  to  the  use  which  men  and 
women  make  of  it. 

They  went  directly  to  the  spot  where  they  had  placed 
the  large  stone.  They  had  taken  with  them  picks  and 
spades,  and  here  they  commenced  digging.  It  did  not 
take  them  long  to  tunnel  five  or  six  feet  into  the  moun- 
tain side,  when  they  struck  quartz.  They  chipped  away 
at  the  quartz  rock  until  midday,  then  they  filled  two 
sacks  brought  for  the  purpose,  with  some  of  the  finest 
looking  specimens,  and  each  shouldering  one,  returned  to 
camp.  Here,  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Kester  and 
the  young  man  and  maiden,  they  carefully  examined  their 
treasures,  when  lo!  they  discovered  that  the  quartz  was 
streaked  heavily  with  gold. 

"Wall,  yung  feller,"  remarked  the  old  man  dryly,  "thet 
thar  rock  is  good  fur  sore  eyes,  fur  sartin." 

After  they  had  eaten  a  good  dinner,  in  company  with 
the  young  man  they  had  brought  with  them,  they  re- 
turned to  the  diggings,  and  there  worked  bravely  until 
the  sun  sunk  into  the  Pacific — or,  at  least,  it  appeared  so 
to  them.  By  this  time  they  had  tunneled  quite  deeply 
into  the  heart  of  the  mountain. 

They  had  now  dug  quite  through  the  quartz  and  struck 
a  large  vein  of  golden  ore.  They  then  filled  three  sacks 
and  returned  to  camp.  On  examination  they  found  this 
ore  as  rich  as  any  they  had  ever  seen  on  display,  any- 
where. This  was  now  all  that  it  was  necessary  for  them 
to  do  at  present,  and  a  merry  company  they  were,  as 


186  MARK  CHESTER:    OR 

they  sat  around  the  table  which  they  had  brought  with 
them  in  the  van. 

"Thet  thar  mine  '11  turn  out  millions  o'  dollars,  ef  she's 
well  worked,  or  my  name  ain't  ole  Kister,"  said  that 
worthy  gentleman  with  a  beaming  face.  "Mark,  my  boy, 
yer  in  luck,  sure.  Ther  fust  chance  a'  stakin'  '11  be 
yourn  fur  sartin.  Stake  yer  claim  fust,  my  boy,  then 
I'll  stake  mine,  an'  thet  thar  yung  chap  kin  then  stake 
hissen.  Gals,  wouldn't  yer  like  tew  take  a  cupple  o' 
claims?" 

The  young  maiden  said  she  should  like  it  very  much, 
and  Mrs.  Kester  thought  she  might  as  well.  They 
passed  a  happy  hour  or  two  more  by  the  bright  camp- 
fire  and  then  retired. 

The  next  morning  they  all  repaired  to  the  mines,  and 
claims  were  staked  out  for  each  one  of  the  party;  and 
after  once  more  partaking  of  a  hearty  dinner,  they 
started  on  their  way  back  to  Los  Angeles.  Here  they 
registered  their  claims  and  had  the  ore  assayed;  and  it 
proved  to  be  all  they  had  expected  it  was. 

When  they  returned  they  found  Merry  and  Alstain  at 
the  hotel  in  Redondo.  Mark  was  already  slightly  ac- 
quainted with  these  gentlemen. 

After  polite  greetings  and  handshakings,  Mr.  Kester 
and  our  hero  asked  for  a  private  interview,  for  Merry 
and  Alstain  were  there  as  agents,  or  representatives,  of  a 
large  New  York  syndicate.  It  had  been  through  them 
that  Marcus  Chesterfield  had  found  himself  able  to  dis- 
pose of  his  mines. 

At  this  interview  it  was  decided  that  the  following 
week  Mr.  Merry  and  Mr.  Alstain  were  to  accompany 
Mark  to  the  newly  discovered  treasures;  and  if  they 
found  all  things  as  they  had  been  represented,  they 
would,  forthwith,  inform  the  syndicate,  and  negotiations 
would  at  once  be  considered. 

This  they  did,  and  before  another  month  had  passed, 
Mark  Chester  found  himself  a  millionaire. 

As  he  had  the  first  choice  of  claims,  his  proved  to  be 
of  greater  worth  than  the  others. 

The  old  fisherman  sold  his  for  thirty  thousand  dollars; 
the  young  man  who  drove  the  van  for  them  received 
twenty  thousand  and  Mrs.  Kester  and  the  young  girl  re- 


A    MILL    AND    A    MILLION.  187 

ceived  ten  thousand  each  for  their  claims,  and  we  will 
here  state  that  the  syndicate  took  many  millions  of  dol- 
lars from  the  mines;  and,  at  last  accounts,  were  still 
working  the  mines  at  an  immense  profit.  Vein  after 
vein  and  large  pockets  after  pockets  were  discovered  of 
the  golden  ore — but  we  will  let  the  syndicate  take  care 
of  itself  while  we  follow  Mark  Chester  and  his  adopted 
father  in  their  careers. 


188  MARK   CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    MARRIAGE   OF  MARK  AND  ISABEL. 

Mark  now  sought  Isabel  openly,  and  when  Mrs. 
Morton  was  made  acquainted  with  the  young  man's  suc- 
cess, she  opposed  his  suit  no  longer.  She  forgot  her 
former  grief  and  chagrin  and  once  more  became  the 
proud  and  haughty  lady,  who  kept  the  aristocratic  and 
exclusive  private  hotel,  "The  Morton  House." 

Mark  was  now  supposed  to  take  the  finest  rooms  at 
the  Redondo  Hotel — the  ones  formerly  occupied  by 
Marcus  Chesterfield,  but  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  he 
still  kept  his  old  room,  and  spent  not  a  cent  more  than 
formerly.  This  caused  much  comment,  all  coming  to 
the  conclusion  that  the  young  man  was  a  despicable 
miser,  but  they  were  destined  to  find  out  their  mistake 
before  many  months  rolled  by. 

Mark  Chester  asked  Mrs.  Morton  for  the  hand  of  her 
daughter  Isabel  in  marriage,  and  she  readily — and  even 
eagerly— gave  her  consent.  She  hoped  that  at  last  she 
should  reign  at  the  head  of  the  elegant  establishment  of 
a  millionaire;  but  Isabel  told  her  mother  that  Mark  aad 
herself  had  no  intention  of  setting  up  a  grand  estab- 
lishment; on  the  contrary,  Mark  intended  to  spend  his 
money  toward  alleviating  the  woes  of  mankind. 

The  lady  raged  violently  at  this  and  wished  to  with- 
hold her  consent  to  the  marriage,  but  preparations  had 
been  so  largely  entered  into,  for  the  event,  that  she 
found  it  impossible  to  do  so.  Mark  settled  a  splendid 
annuity  on  Mrs.  Morton,  and  then  he  and  Isabel  de- 
sired to  be  left  to  take  their  own  course  in  life— a  course 
in  which  Mrs.  Morton  could  not,  and  would  not  join. 

Mark  Chester  and  Isabel  Morton  were  married  on 
New  Year's  Eve,  just  one  year  from  the  evening  that 
Mark  had  arrived  at  Redondo  and  taken  a  seat  on  the 
lone  bench  on  the  beach  without  a  friend  or  even  an 
acquaintance  in  the  town;  no,  he  had  not  even  ever 
looked  on  the  face  of  a  sojil  he  afterwards  met  there. 
He  had  but  one  mill  in  his  pocket  and  that  was  worth- 


A    MILL   AND    A    MILLION.  189 

less  to  him  as  far  as  funds  were  concerned;  it  was  also 
cold  and  after  dark  and  he  was  hungry.  In  just  one 
year  from  that  evening  he  finds  himself  a  millionaire  and 
leading  to  the  altar  a  sweet  and  beautiful  maiden,  the 
only  woman  he  could  or  ever  did  love.  Many  young 
men,  situated  as  he  was,  at  the  time  of  his  arrival  in 
the  small  towa  of  Redondo,  would  have  become  tramps, 
thieves  and  vagabonds,  and  would  have  remained  such 
until  they  had  ended  their  careers  in  the  penitentiary; 
but  Mark  gladly  accepted  the  first  employment  that 
offered,  no  matter  how  low  it  was,  if  it  were  honest 
work.  He  availed  himself  of  every  opportunity  pre- 
sented and  readily,  industriously  and  honestly  applied 
himself,  determined  to  better  his  condition,  and  suc- 
ceeded. 

All  young  men  may  not  succeed  as  well  as  he  did;  but, 
be  sure  they  will  succeed,  even  to  their  hearts'  content, 
by  patiently  persevering  in  a  straightforward  aad  hon- 
orable course  in  life. 

Mark  did  not  wish  to  lay  plans  for  his  future  until 
Isabel  was  his  wife  and  helpmeet.  He  felt  that  as  a 
single  man  he  was  but  half  of  a  whole;  he  desired  to 
become  a  perfected  whole — that  the  other  half  of  him- 
self might  be  joined  to  him  that  she  might  take  an 
equal  part  in  whatever  enterprises  they  might  under- 
take; but  they  would  first  enjoy  their  honeymoon  and 
afterwards  lay  plans  for  their  future  course  in  life. 
This  they  did.  They  took  a  pleasant  trip  to  San  Fran- 
cisco. Mount  Shasta,  Shasta  Springs  and  Oregon;  then 
to  Puget  Sound,  and  all  the  places  of  note  in  that  vicin- 
ity, but  they  determined  that  Redondo  should  be  their 
permanent  place  of  abode.  They  felt  sure  that  they 
could  do  as  much  good  there  as  elsewhere,  and  so, 
from  day  to  day,  they  perfected  their  plans,  which  we 

shall,  in  due  course,  lay  before  the  reader.  Ban^r 

*  *  «  *  *  SMUG 

We  do  not  care  to  follow  Jane  Erie — or  Mrs.  Chester- 
field, rather,  in  her  career — but  we  will  here  say  that  it 
was  an  entirely  selfish  one.  Like  thousands  of  other 
wealthy  women  she  lived  for  fashionable  society  and 
for  self  aggrandizement.  To  be  a  very  queen  was  her 
ambition.  She  delighted  in  adulation— to  have  the  world 


190  MARK    CHESTER:     OR 

bow  down  before  her  was  her  greatest  ambition.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Chesterfield  kept  a  princely  establishment  in 
Paris  Marcus  often  visited  Monte  Carlo,  where  he,  at 
last,  gambled  away  all  he  had,  but  a  couple  of  million 
settled  on  his  wife  that  he  could  not  touch. 

He  had  squandered  and  gambled  away  three  million 
dollars;  he  was  pale,  haggard,  trembling,  excitable  and 
peevish,  almost  to  the  point  of  madness.  He  never  had 
performed  a  good  or  an  unselfish  act  in  his  life.  He 
had  never  tried,  with  his  vast  wealth,  to  make  the  world 
better  or  to  help  mankind.  His  life  led  to  nothing  but 
vice  and  vicious  companions  and  his  influence  upon  the 
world  was  to  drag  mankind  downward  into  misery,  pov- 
erty and  degradation.  His  wife  was  little  better. 

Marcus  Chesterfield  sunk  into  a  profligate's  grave 
before  he  was  forty  years  of  age.  His  wife  lived  to 
marry  a  titled  gentleman  of  high  degree,  but  one  as 
selfish  as  herself.  He  was  ruined  financially  when  he 
became  her  husband  and  married  her  for  her  money. 

Not  long  after  the  death  of  her  first  husband,  Mrs. 
Chesterfield  was  sitting  alone  in  her  private  apartments. 
It  was  evening,  and  her  room  had  not  yet  been  lighted, 
when  she  saw  Marcus  standing  before  her,  as  of  old. 
She  put  forth  her  hand  to  clasp  his,  but  he  .receded. 

"Do  not  touch  me,"  he  whispered.  "I  am  now  a 
spirit,  but,  wife,  a  most  unhappy  one,  at  present.  They 
tell  me  here  that  when  my  past  follies  have  been  re- 
trieved, I  may  be  happy  and  progress  into  a  better  con- 
dition I  hope  this  may  prove  true.  Oh!  Jane,  my  wife; 
strive  to  lead  a  more  useful  life;  try  to  do  all  the  good 
you  can,  for  this  is  the  only  way  to  find  happiness  here." 
He  disappeared.  She  laughed  a  mocking  laugh,  as  she 
said: 

"I  will  make  myself  happy  here,  on  earth,  first.     One 
world  at  a  time,  say  I,"  and  here  we  will  leave  her. 
***** 

After  a  delightful  honeymoon,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Chester 
returned  to  Redondo  and  to  the  Morton  House.  It  was 
no  longer  necessary  for  Mrs.  Morton  to  keep  a  private 
hotel,  consequently  the  heretofore  exclusive  hotel  be- 
came an  exclusive  private  residence. 

Mrs.    Morton   still    kept   her    servants   and   set    up   her 


A    MILL   AND   A   MILLION .  191 

carriage  with  coachman  and  footman  in  livery.  Many 
beautiful  things  were  added  to  the  house — wings,  and  an 
elegant  conservatory  among  them.  Mrs.  Morton  en- 
gaged a  landscape  gardener  and  the  grounds  were  made 
extremely  attractive.  Everything  possible  was  added  to 
the  estate  to  make  it  luxurious  and  beautiful— and  this 
was  to  be  Mrs.  Morton's  home  as  long  as  she  chose  to 
remain  in  it.  She  was  intensely  disappointed  that  Mark 
and  Isabel  did  not  care  to  set  up  a  princely  establish- 
ment in  New  York  city;  but  they  had  other  views  in  life. 

Now,  Mark  would  open  his  heart  to  his  wife,  and  she 
could  help  him  to  perfect  his  plans. 

"Isabel,"  said  he,  when  they  were  talking  over  what 
their  future  work  should  be,  "where  do  you  think  we 
had  better  locate?  Where  can  we  best  carry  out  our 
designs?  Of  course,  we  know  there  is  much  poverty  and 
suffering  in  the  city  of  New  York;  but  one  million  dol- 
lars would  be  a  drop  in  the  ocean,  in  so  large  a  city." 

"That  is  true,  dear  Mark,  and  we  are  Californians. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  to  work  in  our  own 
sphere,  here  at  home,  doing  the  work  that  lies  nearest  to 
us,  and  doing  it  with  all  our  might?  I  find  this  to  be 
an  excellent  rule,  dear  husband." 

"You  are  right,  Isabel.  We  need  not  go  abroad  to  find 
work  to  do,  but  begin  at  home.  And  now  that  we  have 
decided  to  remain  at  home,  the  question  is,  darling,  what 
shall  we  do,  and  how  shall  we  do  it?" 

"Suppose,  Mark,  we  begin  with  that  settlement  of 
Shantiville,  out  there  on  the  beach.  Those  people  are  in 
extreme  poverty,  most  of  them  ragged  and  hungry;  their 
little  huts  and  tents  are  not  much  better  than  dog-ken- 
nels. Let  us  begin  right  there,  Mark." 

"So  be  it,  sweet  wife." 

"And,  besides,  darling;  you  know  there  are  a  great 
many  poor  families  right  here  in  the  city  of  Redondo." 

"So  there  are,  Isabel,  very  many  indeed — so  many  that 
I  fear  a  million  dollars  will  not  be  enough  to  do  very 
much." 

"Never  mind,  husband.  We  will  do  what  we  can;  that 
is  all  that  is  required  of  us,  I  think." 

"Well,  darling,  how  do  you   propose  to   begin?" 

"That  is  a  very  bcautful  field  you  hired  last  year,  the 


192  MARK  CHESTER:   OR 

most  beautiful  spot  in  all  this  neighborhood.  Suppose 
you  purchase  that  field,  dear  Mark?" 

"That  would  be  fine,"  he  replied— "and  then  what?" 

"How  many  acres  are  there  in  it,  dear?" 

"One  hundred,"  answered  Mark. 

"I  believe,  then,  we  can  provide  for  one  hundred  fam- 
ilies." 

"Yes,  I  think  that  would  be  possible  by  managing  so 
that  they  might  be  self-supporting." 

"That  is  just  what  I  was  coming  to,  Mark.  We  will 
purchase  that  field— it  is  for  sale,  as  we  know;— we  will 
fence  it  off  into  one-acre  lots." 

"That  is  easily  done,   Isabel." 

"Then,  within  each  lot,  we  will  build  a  Heat,  comfort- 
able, convenient  cottage — a  home." 

"We  can  easily  do  all  that,  my  dear." 

"But  before  we  put  up  our  cottages,  we  will  run 
streets  east  and  west,  north  and  south,  at  the  termina- 
tion of  each  acre.  This  will  cut  the  land  up  into  squares 
of  not  quite  an  acre  each,  for  the  roads  must  be  taken 
from  each  acre  alike;  we  will  set  out  trees  on  both  sides 
of  the  roads  and  there  will  be  two  hundred  roads,  one 
hundred  each  way.  We  will  employ  these  poor  men, 
who  cannot  find  work,  to  build  the  fences,  grade  the 
roads  and  set  out  the  trees,  and  we  will  pay  them  two 
dollars  per  day  for  eight  hours'  work,  one  dollar  for  four 
hours." 

"All  right,  my  dear  wife." 

"Now  we  must  find  a  competent  builder  and  contract 
with  him  to  erect  the  cottages,  asking  him  to  employ 
poor  men  whenever  possible;  and,  when  all  is  done,  we 
will  give  a  life  lease,  to  any  worthy  poor  man  or  woman 
who  has  a  family,  of  a  cottage,  together  with  its  acre  of 
ground.  At  the  death  of  any  one,  so  holding  a  lease,  the 
property  reverts  back  to  us,  to  be  renewed  by  the  oldest 
child  or  the  father  or  mother  who  may  be  left,  or  to  the 
one  who  decides  to  remain,  or,  perhaps,  the  one  most 
worthy.  These  cottages  shall  all  be  alike,  that  there 
may  be  no  jealousy  between  those  who  lease  them." 

"Now  the  question  arises,  how  can  these  men  and 
women  support  themselves?" 


A   MILL   AND   A    MILLION.  193 

"Will  what  I  have  proposed  take  all  the  money, 
Mark?" 

"Well,  no,  dear.     I  think  not." 

"Mark,  do  you  remember  that  beautiful  tract  of  land, 
not  a  half-mile  from  town,  that  you  looked  at  so  eagerly 
the  last  time  we  took  our  drive?" 

"Yes,  I  remember  that  I  thought  there  must  be  nearly 
a  thousand  acres  in  it." 

"Do  you  think  you  would  have*  money  enough  left  to 
purchase  that  tract?" 

"Well,  darling,  if  I  do  not  have  enough,  I  know  who 
would  have  enough,  and  I  am  sure  would  be  glad  to  in- 
vest it  that  way." 

"Uncle  Kester?  Oh!  he  would  indeed.  Mark,  I  am 
sure  of  that,  and  then  you  and  that  good  man  can  raise 
hay,  Yankee  beans,  and  anything  else  that  will  pay— 
and  employ  these  men  to  work  for  you  at  one  dollar  for 
four  hours'  labor,  or  two  dollars  for  eight  hours.  I  feel 
certain  that  you  will  be  able  to  clear  the  money,  thus 
invested,  and,  perhaps,  something  over." 

"Yes,  with  good  management  I  am  sure  we  could." 

"Mark,  can  we  benefit  the  world  in  any  better  way 
than  this?" 

"I  cannot  think  of  any  better  way,  my  dear." 

"Then  we  will  put  our  plans  into  execution  directly." 


194  MARK  CHESTER:     OR 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
MILLENNIAL. 

The  old  fisherman  was  now  quite  wealthy  indeed.  He 
had  made  a  little  Paradise  of  his  cottage  and  grounds, 
and  he  needed  nothing  more,  so  he  said;  and  when  Mark 
and  Isabel  told  him  of  their  plans,  he  entered  into  them 
with  great  zest. 

"Jest  whut  every  rich  man  oughter  dew,"  he  said, 
"take  his  surplus  money  an'  use  it  fur  the  benefit 
o'  his  feller  creturs,  an'  no  marter  whut  other  men  dew, 
I'll  dew  jest  whut  I  like  with  my  money.  I  shell  buy  thet 
thar  field,  lad,  an'  I'll  go  an'  see  about  it  this  very  day." 

And  he  kept  his  word.  Before  a  week  had  passed  the 
thousand  acre  field  belonged  to  Mr.  Nathaniel  Kester,  the 
erstwhile  old  fisherman. 

"Mark,  my  boy,  we'll  be  pardners  agin,  an'  ef  we 
carnt  push  this  ere  thing  thro',  nobudy  kin."  And  so 
operations  were  commenced  at  once,  and  on  that  one 
hundred  acre  lot,  when  next  New  Year's  Eve  came 
around,  that  lot  that  Mark  had  hired  the  year  before, 
stood  a  beautiful  little  city  of  lovely  cottages  and  one 
hundred  men  and  their  families  were  taking  possession 
of  them  with  happy,  hopeful  faces;  contentment  beaming 
from  every  eye.  As  soon  as  the  rains  would  warrant, 
the  one  thousand  acre  tract,  belonging  to  Uncle  Kester, 
was  to  be  put  under  cultivation. 

Not  one  plan  miscarried.  When  spring  came,  that 
great  field  was  waving  in  grain  and  produce  of  all  kinds 
that  thrive  in  California,  enough  to  feed  thousands  of 
men,  women  and  children. 

Mark  was  busy  contracting  with  parties  for  the  sale  of 
the  produce.  A  market  for  it  must  be  found.  He  had 
not  much  trouble  in  doing  this,  for  nothing  was  raised 
that  the  world  did  not  need.  There  must  be  food  for  man 
and  beast. 

Mark  Chester  had,  long  ago  become  convinced  that  by 
exercising  the  human  will  to  its  utmost  capacity,  and 
grasping  every  opportunity  as  it  presented  itself,  almost 


A   MILL  AND   A    MILLION.  195 

anything  might  be  accomplished;  but  there  must  be  no 
wavering — a  firm,  continuous,  determination;  not  neces- 
sarily a  rush,  but  quick  to  see  and  using,  as  stepping 
stones,  anything  and  everything  that  is  honorable. 

Mark  Chester  had  thus  risen  in  one  year  from  a  mill 
to  a  million.  Mark  Chester  in  two  years  had  founded  a 
beautiful  little  city,  which  he  called  Millennial;  and  a 
very  Millennial  it  proved  to  be.  No  one  need  live  in  it  if 
not  disposed,  but  there  the  homeless  found  a  home,  the 
weary  found  rest. 

The  widow  with  her  orphan  children  starved  no  more. 
Mark  and  Isabel  did  not  stop  their  good  works  after 
Millennial  had  been  built.  Mark  now  desired  that  his 
people,  as  he  called  them,  should  understand  that  the 
two  worlds — the  Spiritual  and  the  Natural — were  inter- 
blended.  He  wished  to  tell  them  how  his  sainted  mother 
had  guided  and  watched  over  him,  and  how  it  was  by 
following  her  advice  he  had  attained  to  his  present  pros- 
perity and  happiness;  and,  that,  really,  all  that  they  now 
enjoyed  was  owing  to  this  circumstance. 

He  determined  that  a  large  and  elegant  temple  should 
be  erected  wherein  the  people,  who  lived  in  Millennial, 
could  congregate  to  hear  those  who  taught  of  spiritual 
communion. 

He  was  not  long  in  bringing  this  to  pass.  Uncle  Kes- 
ter  gave  two  thousand  dollars;  Mark  and  Isabel,  one 
thousand  each.  The  young  man,  who  went  with  them 
to  the  mines,  gave  one  thousand— so  also  did  the  young 
lady— for  they  had  both  become  residents  of  Millennial, 
and,  consequently,  could  well  afford  it.  All  the  poor 
men  in  the  community  gave  as  much  as  they  could  af- 
ford— which,  all  told,  amounted  to  about  two  thousand 
more. 

They  now  had  eight  thousand  dollars,  and  with  this 
sum  a  beautiful  building  was  soon  erected,  and  those 
who  taught  the  Spiritual  Philosophy  were  invited  to  join 
forces  with  them. 

Thousands  visited  Southern  California  to  look  upon  the 
city  of  Millennial,  and  give  forth  teachings  upon  the  ros- 
trum of  the  beautiful  Spiritual  Temple. 

After  awhile  two  or  three  hundred  Spiritualists 
clubbed  together  and  purchased  two  hundred  acres  of 


196  MARK   CHESTER. 

land,  not  far  from  Millennial,  and  built  a  city  upon  it, 
just  like  Millennial,  comprisiag  two  hundred  cottages; 
and  these  beautiful  cities  kept  on  increasing  in  number 
until  the  whole  country  was  dotted  with  them,  and  at 
last,  in  this  way,  there  were  no  more  tramps — no  more 
hungry  men,  women  or  children.  The  old  selfish  state  of 
things,  wherein  the  rich  became  richer  and  the  poor 
poorer,  where  the  oppressor  rode  rough  shod  over  his 
victims  and  monopoly  stalked  broadcast  through  the 
land,  was  no  more. 

Dear  reader,  this  story  is  prophetic.  Such  men  as 
Mark  Chester  will  arise  in  your  land.  Such  cities  will 
be  built.  The  old-time  millionaire  will  cease  to  be,  and 
monopolies  will  be,  at  length,  driven  to  the  wall. 


The  End. 


